She was suddenly very aware of the room, the television still blaring, and the chill in the air. I asked several shopkeepers the same question: ‘Do you know the blue-eyed maid with the curly brown hair? She has a mother who is fair with the same eyes. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. Distress, deep-rooted, and age old. I want to know—just as much as I can. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, The Last Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun … Love stories! Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel. “I’ve gotta go.
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