She kept him talking all the way to the doorstep of the Beck's home, a small 1970s brown split-level in the old part of town. “You have not seen your sister lately,” he remarked. I figured it would hurt your feelings if you knew I still talked to him, so I kept my mouth shut. Wood. There were two. ‘So now you may safely cease your roundaboutation, and tell me what took you to Remenham House. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector. I'm not sure I'd go out with him anyway.
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