Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. ‘Something for you, Lucy?’ he asked, interrupting a heated argument that had obviously been in progress for some little time before their arrival. “These are the sort of things that aren’t supposed to happen. When she awoke, the sun was high in Heaven. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. “It isn’t quite that we’re toys.
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