“Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. 272 < 34 > EPILOGUE She paced the Manhattan neighborhood, her backpack swinging, marveling at the austere buildings gleaming silver in their starkness. "Surely," he added, staring at Rowland, "either I'm greatly mistaken, or it is—" "You are not mistaken, Baptist," returned Rowland with a gesture of silence; "it is your old friend. She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. " "Go with him to Tyburn,—never lose sight of him till the noose is tied. "She wouldn't let me go. “No. That’s all. . . " There was a roaring in her ears like that of angry waters. Borrow. It filled his thoughts for the rest of the day, and became an obsession.
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