" "Who are you?" ejaculated Trenchard, scarcely able to credit his senses. “Beats me. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. The newcomer stopped short upon the threshold. He had but to give his orders. Her husband finally relented.
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