“Dr. Summerson gave me an incense clock,” Mrs. Summerson said wistfully. “Sung Dynasty.”
I turned the postcard over and stared down at it.
It was postmarked China.
“We never know what time it is,” Orlando insisted. “My time and your time-”
“Hush,” Sonia said. And, miraculously, he did.
It was a normal, junky, third-world postcard, printed on cheap, fiber-flecked paper that had been soiled by many hands. Hello children, it said, in rigidly rectangular English script, a script with years of missionary-school practice behind it. I ask your forgiveness.
Eleanor leaned over and kissed me on the ear as I read the signature. It said Lo.
I folded the card in half and looked up, catching Hammond in the act of giving me Force Ten Cop Suspicion.
“Do we have time for all six courses?” I asked.