Kneebone and his friends would be glad of a little refreshment. She bathed frequently with ash and lye soap stolen from traders. I want to be myself. She tried to imagine herself “getting something,” to project herself as sitting down at a desk and writing, or as returning after her work to some pleasantly equipped and free and independent flat. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. She found the silence comforting, as old people often do. She was a woman now to the tips of her fingers; she had said good-bye to her girlhood in the old garden four years and a quarter ago.
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