272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “Mean as an old mule, too. He continued his ditty, in spite of the angry glances of his leader. From his pale skin and inky hair color it was apparent that his ancestry was half-Hispanic and half-European, perhaps French. I am sure he would go with you. Die game. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. What were you doing at Remenham House? I can’t puzzle that bit out. Martha was quite right.
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