Fast. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you. But you need not fear,’ she added, shaking him off. "You are Ruth?" "Yes," said Ruth, stirred by anger and bitterness and astonishment. Had it not been for the Plague, she might have had her own babies. Wild never was the associate of thieves.
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