She calls us her guests, but in reality we are her prisoners. A fire enveloped her, a fire which was strangely healing, filling her heart with warmth, blotting out the menace of the world. “We’ve all been mixing our ideas, and we’ve got intellectual hot coppers— every blessed one of us. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. ‘Do please continue,’ Gerald begged, deceptively docile. James’ Park?” Anna nodded, and made a careful selection from a dish of quails.
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