I want to put myself into your hands. \"May I come in?\" His bravado was increasing. Wood started to his feet. Her sleepless night had left her languid but not stupefied, and for an hour or so the work distracted her altogether from her troubles. Despite him, it was the beauty that she had inherited from her mother they had used to gain the betrothal, and it had not been easy. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. I must go to work again. For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness.
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