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272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. “Please, stay a while longer. ‘Do you think I could endure to hear you prattling your abominable French in my ear day by day? Enough to drive me straight into my grave. Her father had smiles ready for her, he seemed to be truly happy with her for the first time since her infancy. The place, in which they stood, was a small entrance-chamber, cut off, like the segment of a circle, from the main apartment, (of which it is needless to say it originally constituted a portion,) by a stout wooden partition. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. “I truly am a vampire, John. Even with her life in danger from the villainous Valade, Mademoiselle Melusine, engaged in a desperate battle to prove her true identity, believes she is well able to take care of herself and is determined not to be rescued. Just because I attempt to seek the worst of men to kill, it doesn’t make it right.
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