She moaned as his lips caressed her neck, almost to where the dress met her shoulder. She continued to fan herself. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. Either you have had to love people or hate them—which is a sort of love, too, in its way—to get anything out of them. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. I believe I’m in love. You’ll never see the light of day as long as you live. By a miracle, he averted its path, his hold on the girl’s mouth shifting fast to grasp her wrist. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron.
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