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272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘Martha was my wet-nurse? But she is unmarried. I like you very much, I haven’t known you enough to love you, no matter how worthy you are of love. She wormed her way past Sebastian, glanced at her mother’s blackened face, her obscenely naked body bulging with yellow and black buboes under the arms and in the groin that oozed stinking fluid. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. The Wastrel did not relish this. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. Leonardo had told her it would happen, and warned her to make use of it. I HAD to. She recovered herself, however, with amazing facility.
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