At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. He asked her whether she understood what she was saying, and went on to say still more precisely that she should never touch a penny of his money until she came home again—not one penny. Meanwhile, she was spirited away from John and bombarded by half-familiar people who attempted to chat with her above the roar of the crowd. She pulled his shirt from its tucked belted state and snaked her hands around his waist. She longed to enjoy human food as he did.
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