You see, it's like this. A woman’s shoe lay on the threadbare carpeting. It was a great weight from her shoulders to confide in another human being, and she suspected he did truly believe her. Just this? Parbleu, did he think this was enough? She did not wish to marry him—at least, not just because he was an Englishman. He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, The Last Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun … Love stories! Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel. "Then, by Heaven! you are a dead man!" replied Jack, cocking a pistol, and pointing it deliberately at his head. She was acquiring truths, but in a series of shocks rather than by the process of analysis.
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