Taking a firm grasp of his pistol, Gerald eased back, let go the handle of the door, and at the same instant, swung his booted foot. “It was a bad day for me,” he said, speaking slowly and painfully. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She had eaten them. She rose, paid her bill, and turned westwards. She could hear the bell tinkle as the horse shook its head. Neither combatant could use his sword; and in strength the fugitive was evidently superior to his antagonist. He shook his head all the time.
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