“But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. He had not addressed to her even the most ordinary courtesy of fellow travellers; she doubted that he was even aware of her existence. Mr. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She had been going with a twenty-two year old man named Julian Rimbauer in secret. His age was not far from fifty.
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