And now," she added, glancing contemptuously at the woollen-draper, "I'll go to Jack Sheppard. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. There was an air of repressed gaiety in her actions: the sense of freedom had returned; her heart was empty again. And where was that devil? Had the soldiers found him? She could not think he had escaped, for she had only just made it into the passage as they entered the library. Strike the gag, Blueskin. But this I cannot do. When I am angry, I can get very mean.
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