Of course this thing was absolutely impossible. It was the day I borrowed a pencil; the day we first spoke to one another. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. She flung herself back into the bare little room, cold, empty, comfortless. “I am going to break a covenant,” he cried. He grabbed her hair viciously and whispered loudly into her tear-streaked face. Lucia watched in fascination as Isobella nodded at her, only three years older than she, nursing her son with a contented smile upon her face. “Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked.
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