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272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. She was tempted to touch him in the car as they drove to the empty house, but she refrained for fear of causing a car accident. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. You were pointed out to me at—a few nights ago. “Do you like my dress?” “Yes, the dress is beautiful, but you are much more beautiful than any dress. I must have something in hand. Nothing disheartened by this survey, Jack set to work upon the lock, which he attacked with all his implements;—now attempting to pick it with the nail;— now to wrench it off with the bar: but all without effect.
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