From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. ‘What can I do, miss?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ cried Melusine. Horrors abounded in every passageway as each turn could bring a vision of a poor woman running from her screaming plague-infested son or a bloated corpse of a rich man whose mouth lolled open, showing gaps where someone had pried out a few golden teeth. ‘Her name is Melusine Charvill,’ Gerald began. They unloaded Michelle’s sleeping parents who had been propped up in the back seat, necks craned against each other. I told them lies. She held it by the neck and broke the end of the bottle on the hard dirt.
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