Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘Have no fear,’ he uttered soothingly, reaching out to pat her free hand. “Then we must try and make London endurable for you,” he remarked cheerfully. But it must have been something that could show her to be Mary’s daughter. That was the true miracle of the gift; without actual experience, to imagine love and hate and greed and how they would react upon each other; and then, when these passions had served their temporary purpose, to cast them aside for new imaginings.
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