272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. Her husband quickly joined the fray, making her giggle and laugh. She could not judge its direction, and began to move swiftly along the bookshelves, her hand running behind her across the spines of the calfbound volumes. They were wed in Florence, in the grandest cathedral she had ever seen, the Santa Maria del Fiore. “They were sent to me by Mr. The one nearest to her, which must lead to the library. She spoke slowly.
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