” “It was an inspiration—your speaking to him?” “I felt impudent. She was surprised to find how stored her mind was with impressions and memories of him, how vividly she remembered his gestures and little things that he had said. 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. Saren Chen was a tall woman, thin and beautiful in a masculine way, Germanic. She could feel her body rebel against her actions, convulsing, so she forced herself to think of her mother in Heaven, her mother's beautiful face, the sun dancing across the rivers of her home. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd. “It’s because I mean to send it back altogether,” she said. “Yes. “I trust,” he said, “that you will recognize the justice of these conditions.
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