272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. I got a rusty bolt cutter. “Before I took up the Suffrage,” a firm, flat voice remarked, “I could scarcely walk up-stairs without palpitations. If you met her you would, I am certain, think her as fine as I do. It seemed at first the most beautiful afternoon of all time to her, and perhaps the thrill of her excitement did add a distinctive and culminating keenness to the day. When they reached her rooms she stepped lightly out upon the pavement. Gerald pressed against the wall, and signalled Roding to go to the other side of the door.
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