They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. But if not himself, there would be another soon enough. By a tacit agreement they ignored the significant thing between them, ignored the slipping away of the ground on which they had stood together hitherto. The thin stream of blood on which her eyes were fastened with a nameless horror reached almost to her feet. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. . She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair. Only au revoir. As soon as they had got out, the vehicle was drawn up at the back of a tree near the cage. “Can I bring you anything, sir—a whisky and soda, or a liqueur? You’ll excuse me, sir, but you haven’t touched your coffee.
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