All the rest is humbug and delicacy. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. They were going up the slope into Waterloo Station. Through yet another doorway she observed an ancient silk brocade loom. Their small talk continued. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "That's well. “Are you sorry you waited, aunt?” she said. As soon as he finished a sheet, he tossed it aside and began another. When younger, and in better health, she must have been eminently lovely; and there were still the remains of great beauty about her.
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