If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. She undid his zipper and pulled his shorts down his hips. She lifted the sheet and gestured for him to join her. It’s a world of dirt and skin diseases and parasites. “You see,” he said, “you are like an inaccessible gold-mine in all this sort of matter. Then she stepped back into the empty room and stood for a moment looking down upon the scattered fragments of her last canvas. The expression was wholly different. “You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. The great ordeal—that which she had most dreaded—had proved to be no ordeal at all. It needs cultivating, I think. The word of a Chinaman; he had given it, so he must abide. dear.
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