272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “Yes. A door in this house opened upon the yard. On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. ‘Well, I can see you won’t let it alone, so what do you propose to do about the wench?’ ‘I’ll die before I let it alone,’ Gerald vowed. His deduction was correct that the beauty of Ruth Enschede could not remain hidden long even on a forgotten isle. ‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began.
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