Part 3 She dismissed the first hotels she passed, she scarcely knew why, mainly perhaps from the mere dread of entering them, and crossed Waterloo Bridge at a leisurely pace. “I wonder if there are any good women really. Annabel, I cannot believe it. If you choose, you can see him put on board the Zeeslang yourself, Sir Rowland. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. 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. He stared at her breasts while he touched them. “Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. ‘Um—begging your pardon, sir, but—um—what was you meaning to arrest the young lady for?’ ‘Trespassing, theft, and suspicion of spying,’ announced Roding fluently. Well, I've had to be. Michelle would arrive daily with a two to ten minute brief on her own dating status, her nightly dreams, grades, new family developments. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over.
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