272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. The gulf between rich and poor was perhaps greater in France, but by all accounts it was not the canaille who were responsible for the present turmoil. " Mrs. ” He released her hand and talked in eager undertones against an auditory background of urgency and distress. “I supposed that he took off his hat to you. A black silk furbelowed scarf covered her shoulders; and over the kincob gown hung a yellow satin apron, trimmed with white Persian. . ’ ‘What?’ uttered Gerald, startled. “You see the pointer?” he asked.
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