272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. I never intended it to be anything but a short story, for I had never completed even the shortest of stories unless forced to in grammar school. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her. I quickly ingratiated myself to Gianfrancesco, playing on his insecurities, drawing from his need for more and more power. My house is the next door to the Cooper's Arms, in the Old Bailey, opposite Newgate. And now you must go back, take up your work and think all this over.
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