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Her sensitive ears could hear her foster mother snoring in front of the television. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. She wished she had not stood up. They might applaud, or object, or interfere, but the drama was her very own. “If you wish,” he said, “I will go there in the morning and see what can be done for him. It had been intensified and corrupted by time, as if to add insult to injury. Almost at the same moment the door opened and Brendon entered, followed by the doctor. The bungalows and stores were built of heavy bamboo and gum-wood; sprawly, one-storied affairs; for the typhoon was no stranger in these waters. “I’m really very sorry. I wonder if he really wants me to go home.
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