He let go of the girl’s arm. In all his life he had never realized a dream; but the thought had never before hurt him. Many of the soldiers dismounted, and called for drink. Instead her point disengaged, dropped, and then the sword came up again and banged, flatbladed, onto Gosse’s wrist with such force that his own blade dropped from his grasp. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. Finally Lucy replied. They had both been unsuccessful. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language.
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