. They slow danced to a Bon Jovi ballad. Wood, "and take your son with you. You will torture yourself and torture her all through life; but in the end she will pour the wine of her faith into a sound chalice. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks. You don’t wear a dinner coat with a flower in your button-hole, or last night’s shirt, or very glossy boots, nor do you haunt the drawing-room in the evening, or play at being musical. "I'll find you out. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. You'd be coming up to Hong-Kong, but you'd be cutting out Canton. She could have traded it for gold nuggets and lived like a queen for a few weeks, but she did not.
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