It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. You are much more like what I was then. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. For when this Joan said it, I had a memory. Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. She described the Goopes and the Fabians to him, and gave him a sketch of her landlady; and he talked in the most liberal and entertaining way of a modern young woman’s outlook. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Ten thousand steeds appeared to be trampling aloft, charged with the work of devastation. He played for an hour—Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt, crashing music. "He's safe enough, I assure you. Saws, hammers, planes, axes, augers, adzes, chisels, gimblets, and an endless variety of tools were ranged, like a stand of martial weapons at an armoury, in racks against the walls. She had fallen asleep.
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