“Nice sleeve,” she said, and came to his hand and kissed it. A young man was playing the banjo. ’ *** Mrs Chalkney, a long-time friend of the late Mrs Alderley, had been delighted to oblige that lady’s son. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. You get one, you get them all. She took some shirts, underwear, shoes, a duffel bag, and his wallet to make it look like he had gone a-traveling. That is I saw her. “I should imagine,” he said, shaking out a copy of The Times, “that it is your brain which is addled. We’ll go to the shops. But she did not speak.
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