She clenched her hands together and leaned forward in her chair, gazing steadily into the fire. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. There's good stuff in him, if one could find the way to dig it out. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Brewis had told him the Valade family had been victim to wholesale murder, and a twinge of compassion had wrung even his deliberately hardened heart. I hated him. The doorbell tinkled and Michelle grabbed her purse and rushed down the creaky wooden stairs.
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