82 She was putting a manuscript away, gingerly locking its heavy tooled cover, but it was a huge, awkward tome. It was clear it must be to-morrow. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. Promise me one thing before I leave you. ‘Major Alderley, ma’am, and General Lord Charvill. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. Jeez! It was about time. She knew the story only imperfectly, and followed it now with a passionate and deepening interest.
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