He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. Detention was merry for the other detainees. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. His brute strength surged through her veins, she could feel his energy in her heart, his life force stolen like candy from a baby. Whatever he wrote he was: he became this or that character, he suffered or prospered equally.
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