“I really owe him something of an apology. Another car followed, a rusty Cadillac sedan full of kids. Everybody talking of you. He felt his orgasm explode into her as his mouth was filled with bitter, metallic blood. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. We’re handfuls. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. “You, too,” he said abruptly. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. There was no one else in the doorway. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness.
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