Perhaps he had had money in the coat, back in Hong-Kong, and had been robbed without knowing it. He insisted on buying this girl for two hundred mex. His face was much handsomer than Gianfrancesco’s, his lips thinner, his brow much more noble and wise. As he stood upon the bridge, he held down the light, and looked into the profound abyss. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth.
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