She had eaten them, murdered them routinely, and yet he loved her still. They sat on a wooden bench that overlooked the less aromatic part of the lake, deeper and not as frequented by geese. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find.
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