ToC The noise of this disturbance did not fail to reach the interior of the prison. Now that she was his, to make or mar, she presented an extraordinary fascination. As he understood it, folks saw in two or three days all there was to see of Canton. You might even tire of me by then, you know. As she averted her gaze, a terrible idea crossed her. Outside stood a stocky, combat boot-clad girl of seventeen with a teased mass of spiky bottle-black hair. There he sat, cheerfully friendly in his sex’s freedom—the man she loved, the one man she cared should unlock the way to the wide world for her imprisoned feminine possibilities, and he seemed regardless that she stifled under his eyes; he made a jest of all this passionate insurgence of the souls of women against the fate of their conditions. What is done cannot be undone. He took a handful of almonds and raisins that she held out to him—for both these young people had given up the practice of going out for luncheon—and kept her hand for a moment to kiss her finger-tips. She is called Madame Ibstock, you understand.
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