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. Somebody may be on the watch—perhaps, that old ginger-hackled Jew. She felt his erection against her naked thigh. Never mind. But a doll that rolled its eyes and had flaxen hair! Except for the manual labour—there had been natives to fetch and carry—she and Cosette were sisters in loneliness. She gaped at its keep, at least ten feet tall, a frightening gray coffin turned upright. He let go of the girl’s arm. ‘Tell me, my boy.
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