“We don’t pretend. " "Stand off, Poll," rejoined the woollen-draper; "I don't want to hurt you. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. Here was a hole as wide as a church-door. . "I haven't offended you?"—not contritely but curiously. But she no longer obsessed over heresy, no longer did she feel cursed by God. Gosse twisted his body to avoid another thrust, and the heavy candlesticks fell, rolling with a noise like thunder, and falling with a thud to the floor. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "To be sure," returned Wild; "he's not only alive, but likely for life, if we don't clip the thread.
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