She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. Let us have no more of this humbug. “I wanted to make love to you. ‘Perhaps I could indeed rescue you if only you would confide in me. No, I thank you. She would take the items with her; bury the items and her bloodstained clothes in one of the many sinkholes in the huge landfill/garbage dump on the south side of town. In Europe or in America people would have smiled; but in Singapore—the half-way port of the world—where a human kaleidoscope tumbles continuously east and west, no one had remarked her. By the intense look of him, she guessed that she had just encountered for the first time the boy genius Martin Chen.
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