‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “Not for these things, O Ann Veronica, have you revolted,” it said; “and this is not your appropriate purpose. It reminded her viscerally of her subhuman status, stripped away of the pretenses of art, intellect, and nicety. Men do not understand constancy as women do. She untucked his starched shirt, running her hands along his smooth torso and underneath his arms. ’ Gerald controlled a quivering lip. .
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