—Strype's Stow. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. There'll be busy days and idle. The tables were then cleared. He lived on the seventh floor behind a winding set of hallways that towered over her in their grayness. And the change, the change of attitude! The way all the old clingingness has been thrown aside is amazing. They heard his footsteps descending the stone staircase, growing fainter and fainter. But I know very well that that word will never be spoken.
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