’ ‘Ah, no?’ She saw his guard relax and lunged again. ‘I find you excessively rude. He wore a battered sunhelmet, a loin-cloth and a pair of dilapidated canvas shoes. Then Sheila noticed the stains. He dodged the boot this time, and smashed his left upon the Wastrel's lips, leaving them bloody pulp. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “I wrote it for you. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command.
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