It was Blueskin. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. “You know that I have always hated this!” She 264 looked down at Michelle’s pitifully bloody head, her body barely hanging on to its breath. The colour slowly left her cheeks, the lines of her mouth hardened. Ann Veronica considered her answer. ” “Who will?” “The police! The families of the people I’ve killed! I’m guilty!” “How old do I have to be?” “I beg your pardon?” “To be of use to you.
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