She crawled into her small bed, dizzy with the thoughts of him, of kissing him. He got up brusquely. He stopped on the curb-stone, not facing her but as if he was on his way to cross the road, and spoke to her suddenly over his shoulder. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. She tried not to notice how much attention Martin Chen had been paying her, but he had been bold enough to speak to her the other day. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. It was still possible the child might be in safety.
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