‘Now then, missie. An unwelcome idea came to him. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. Rhea went down, screeching and clawing at the air for the sword, which clanked heavily on the ground. She was to be handed over with her dowry of three thousand Florins, plus her pet bird, six chickens, her mother’s fine linens, a small book of poetry. All they left it was the moon and stars.
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