For a time she looked at no more apartments, and walked through gaunt and ill-cleaned streets, through the sordid under side of life, perplexed and troubled, ashamed of her previous obtuseness. He would have to return to Hong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set foot on the Praya. Like a nightmare memory that returned again and again to haunt her. She stood there limply and did not act to resist him. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. Now I’d like the rest of your story. He drifted in and out of consciousness. “Yes.
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