The wound lay open for five seconds, and then closed neatly as if it had been stitched by invisible hands. It came to her like a dear thing rediscovered, that she loved Capes. “I was very foolish to have been deceived even for a moment. She’d prefer that I read classic literature, of course, but she only reads paperback romance novels, so she can’t exactly complain. Men had tried to kiss her— unshaven derelicts, some of them terrible—but she had always managed to escape. At noon the doctor himself arrived. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. “You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him. When it came time to eat once again, she hid out on the beach, a remote fastness beyond the city walls, a swampy morass that everyone avoided.
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