He was draining a glass, and as he set it down he shuddered. They were sounding more and more like Civic every day. Wood. There was no one stirring in the flats. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Lives by his wits and gambling. "Farewell!" cried Jack, embracing them. But whither The Tigress was bound or who the owner was lay beyond the reach of Ah Cum's deductions. Strangers look in and long, and neighbours are moved to envy. And she defies me.
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