” Ann Veronica said nothing in answer to that. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. He had quite enough to see to and worry about in the City without their doing things. Spurlock slumped in his chair, weak and empty. The back of the house had been the Alps for climbing, and the shrubs in front of it a Terai. He had promised her some books, for she had voiced her hunger for stories. She had, it was true, accepted doubtfully the pen he had offered.
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