She pointed suddenly at the portrait. I should have gotten out of here months ago!” She opened the passenger side and reclined in the bucket seat. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. Love stories! It was of negligible importance that these books were bound in paper; Romance lay unalterably within. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. ” “You’ll get them,” he said. " "As like as life, Sir," observed Austin, peeping over Thornhill's shoulder at the portrait. Sheppard, whose maternal fears drew her in another direction, hurried off to the Mint. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. In addition to the various business men, solicitors, civil servants, and widow ladies who lived in the Morningside Park Avenue, there was a certain family of alien sympathies and artistic quality, the Widgetts, with which Ann Veronica had become very friendly. “I am so sorry.
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