The Ragged Edge. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “Let me see,” she said to herself, trying to control a slight sinking of the heart, “I am going to take a room in a lodging-house because that is cheaper. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. From all angles he was at a disadvantage—in weight, skill, endurance. No other white people within twenty miles. He might be unfortunate, but he would scarcely be a fool. ’ ‘The Frenchie? I only knows as how Miss says he will ruin everything. "I've obtained two packets, containing letters from Sir Rowland Trenchard, which I've no doubt will establish your title to the estates. However, I daresay that we shall come across one another before long. I have work there.
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