272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. The natural gaiety of the place seemed to have affected them both. Gerald, I mean, not Madame Valade. O'Higgins did not confide in me. The fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. All these wonderful comrades, henceforth and for ever hers. I am shockingly poor. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning.
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