A Chinese girl of eighteen, Ping, had long black hair and an angel"s face with pouty lips. Naked, Ping walked, her arms outstretched like a tight-rope walker, up and down Reese"s back. Her toes massaging his spine and buttocks. "Christ," Reese thought, "I"m so relaxed, if the place caught fire, I wouldn"t be able to move!"
Chow Ling had completed his treatment on Reese"s face. Now, the pain in his wounded cheek was gone, and the twitching had stopped. Chow Ling could do nothing about the sag of his mouth, but a thick growth of beard now hid it from view. The beard around the scar had turned white and silky. Ping seemed to like it.
"If Chow Ling asked me to steal the moon, I"d find a way," thought Reese. As for the girl, Ping, no heavier than a feather, she was wonderful. She"d chatter in
