At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. She breathed deeply, and he breathed sympathetically. “Are you looking for Mike? He’s working. Manning leaned forward on the table, talking discursively on the probable brilliance of their married life. My name is Annabel, not Anna. 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. ’ ‘You mean the bookroom, miss. Manning loomed up ever and again into her world, full of a futile solicitude, and almost always declaring she was splendid, splendid, and wishing he could talk things out with her.
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