Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “Have you turned him yet?” Michelle whispered hotly, trying not to raise the volume of her voice. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. She slipped down the perfunctory flight of stairs, short because of the home’s split-level style. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. “One is always playing the surgeon, one kills always the thing one loves best. Probably the latter, for the thronging ballroom was insufferably hot. There isn't a nurse this side of Hong-Kong to be had. hopelessly, and it made me desperate. “I had to.
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