“He would never have found you out if you had not personated me. He shall expiate his offences on the gibbet. He glanced up. 32 The curtains and tapestries had appeared over the windows before Marina had died, growing moldy from the dampness and the oils of lavender, clove, and clary sage soaking them. He admitted that it would bore him to dally here in Canton, with the pleasures of Hong-Kong so close. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. “I can’t. Simply. “And now,” she said, splintering the surviving piece of coal into indignant flame-spurting fragments with one dexterous blow, “what am I to do? “I’m in a hole!—mess is a better word, expresses it better.
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