“I think we are growing sensible,” he said. ‘Who has begun this but you?’ Gerald barely heard her. He had tossed an honoured name into the mire; he required no prison bars to accentuate this misery. As he pocketed it, her open palm reached out and slapped his cheek. It is not at all what I expected either. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks. Yet her hands dropped, and she sighed deeply. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice. If he could keep it up—style and calibre of imagination—within a year the name of Taber would become widely known. “This isn’t a world for an innocent girl to walk about in.
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