“Where is she?” He would yell even louder until she was sure that people in faraway fishing boats could probably hear him. She withdrew her head with a little moan, and resumed her flight. ‘What are you, a nincompoop? She was Nicholas’s wife, of course. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly. If you could see how it gives them souls, women who have taken things for granted, who have given themselves up altogether to pettiness and vanity. But perhaps you don't know; there was nothing in the pockets. For a long time he remained standing before the fire, staring at the situation. "Spare him!" cried Mrs, Sheppard, who fancied she had made some impression on the obdurate breast of the thief-taker,—"spare him! and I will forgive you, will thank you, bless you.
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