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"I alone am to blame. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. There will be long stretches of idleness, heat, and enervation; and always the odour of drying coconut. It was as if he could smell it on her.
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