272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. From her stomacher, to which it was attached by a multitude of glittering steel chains, depended an immense turnip-shaped watch, in a pinchbeck case. ‘Of course I see that,’ she said impatiently. This island was the one haven he had; he might be forced to remain here for several years—until the Hand had forgotten him. A ball from Wild's pistol passed through his heart, and a volley of musketry poured from the guards lodged several balls in the yet breathing body of his leader. “You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. The eminent painter had handsome, expressive features, an aquiline nose, and a good deal of dignity in his manner. The immense disillusionment that awaited him! The devastating disillusionment! She had a vague desire to run after him, to state her case to him, to wring some understanding from him of what life was to her. ” They clambered down the hill together. I'm an old hand at such things.
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