All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. Even the horns were easing into the concept and the woodwinds in the second movement were particularly well-orchestrated. The service had not proceeded far, when she was greatly disturbed by the entrance of a person who placed himself opposite her, and sought to attract her attention by a number of little arts, surveying her, as he did so, with a very impudent and offensive stare. “The rule’s all right, so long as there isn’t a case. “There was a man called Montague Hill,” she said hoarsely, “but he is dead. His salvation—if there was to be any—lay in her ignorance of life. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, The Last Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun … Love stories! Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel.
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