"Your sympathy is being wasted. She set her fingers in the hair and tugged, drawing him to a sitting posture and stooping so that her eyes would be on the level with his when he awoke. I wouldn't trust a Malay, not if he were reared in the Vatican. “May I ask whether you are staying with friends in town?” he inquired deferentially. Don’t stand gawping, man. It seemed older than Rome, and the stone covering it gave resistance. It was dusty, with dirty clothing strewn about, a cracked basin thick with grime on the rickety dresser, and a film of grease on the leaded casement.
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