She was almost tempted to tell him, if only to see the cracks of surprise and incredulity break the immobility of his yellow countenance. ‘This is not love, Marthe. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. His voice had changed, the joy had gone out of it; and she understood that something from the past had rolled up to spoil this hour. "I'll tote the odiousness outside.
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