Through that she had to go. His pipe hung dead in his teeth, but the smoke was dense about him. He had barely settled at his desk in his library, when he was disturbed by two morning callers. She nuzzled his chest and he breathed deeply of the scent of her Finesse conditioner. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. But before the child could be committed to her care, it was wrested from the carpenter by Rowland. The lantern was on the ground inside, ready. Wood.
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