It took my breath away. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. The months that followed September spiraled downward. Opposite to her was a sallow-visaged young man, whose small tie seemed like a smudge of obtusively shiny black across the front of a high close-drawn collar. ‘C’est à dire, I would say from my father only comes the English. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear.
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