Twenty-ThreeI did all this a week ago. I really don’t want to have to do it all over again, especially for someone so young.
John Russell fingered his beard — it needed a trim — and placed his offering of fruit and burning incense on the altar set up in the thoroughfare outside the temple. With the Hungry Ghost Festival building to its climax there were hordes more people than usual milling around, wanting to farewell the beautiful young woman who had died so violently right here.
The immediacy of it all was irresistible. He sighed. I wonder how many of them ever met her. I wonder if we will ever learn the truth about what happened. Why she was killed.
He moved on, threading his way through bands of musicians, mourners, solo entertainers, and dancers to Ting Hon’s memorial, where he lit
