272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. The stranger with a bow returned to his table. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. "An idea has just occurred to me," said Gay, "which Jack's narrative has suggested. The girl’s eyes never left his face. The charm of innocence breathes around her, as fragrance is diffused by the flower, sanctifying her lightest thought and action, and shielding her, like a spell, from the approach of evil. " "And you want me to find a minister?" she asked, with ready comprehension. Her eyes were soft and grave, and there was the faintest of smiles upon her resolute lips. He remained listening attentively. “I murder people, John. She felt herself shaking again. .
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