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Something sat in the rugmaker's belly, small and solid and chill, and her husband's songs ceased to warm it.
The body's exposed intestines writhed with pale-pink caterpillars, Corpsewing larvae, a sight Yinghua found at once repulsive and fascinating.
...where she might well always be the jumped-up little Annamite to other Frenchmen—but what does it matter, if she has Raoul's love?
I considered what he had said now as I regarded the rain spirit. “I believe that there’s something the headman isn’t telling us.”
The Lord Buddha spoke to me that night. He said to take my hatchet, dust it off, and get to those towns and saloons out there. Those damnable pits of damnation.
My soul sunk beneath the platform planks and into a sturdy ox figurine with wisps of cooled caramel for its horns.
I hesitate, but only for a second. Surely Rose would forgive me.
I could not answer her. I had no memory of doing anything besides preparing the topaz.
I scan the opposite shore of the wide river for any sign of human activity, for the people who sent the boat.