272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. And Leonardo told me never to trust any man. ’ ‘Comment? You wish to murder me?’ ‘No, I wish to beat you,’ he retorted. She did not know Mr. Hill, I hope you won’t find everything cold. She's headed for America. I was grounded for the last two weeks. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. Be kind to her. E. “Here we are,” he said, “shining through each other like light through a stained-glass window. So, not exactly hopefully but earnestly, she returned to the feet of God. I don't ask you to supply my place—for that is, perhaps, impossible.
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