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There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks. No mother would have sent her daughter into the world with such a wardrobe. Wood's reply, if he intended any, was cut short by a loud knocking at the door. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Because of the thought of love and companionship? No. ” “She can barely move! You took her limbs!” “You provided her with new ones, my dear.
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