272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. His figure was uncommonly slim even for his age, which could not be more than thirteen; and the looseness of his garb made him appear thinner than he was in reality. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. The Iron Bar. . For a pity, she has chosen to remain, and it has been her death. "I am a Yale man," said Ah Cum.
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