Chapter 17
The hum of the cicadas was becoming louder, like the crescendo of an orchestra as it reaches the finale. Perhaps a storm was preparing, gathering moisture into huge rain clouds, their darkness encouraged by nightfall. Dorothy was staring up at the sky, watching the moon as it became lost, fading into mist. Night time appeared so suddenly there, without warning; without the preparation of twilight, or a slow lowering sun.
Still there was no sign of Susan and Feng; they were hours late now. Surely Feng realised how concerned she would be, even if they were having fun, bartering, then slowly returning, idling along, chit-chattering, not caring about her, not considering, not realising the time. But, although Susan was quite capable of delay, especially in her rebellious mood of t
