You can’t look me in the eyes and say you don’t care for me. “You could have told me about it, Michelle. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. Canton was something like a blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. They stank, and she hated how they blocked the sunlight.
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