“So?” Mei warned, “Don’t make me a fool. I can see you are you.”
“This... Is... The... Last... Time!” Bing cried each word with the strength of a person who speaks only on his deathbed. “I... Swear!”
Mei looked away, wordless.
Above their heads was the small square hole, the only window. The wind chilled her back and blew in his face. The cuts and the wounds were half dried. He stole a long glance at the darkness out of the window. As he fi rst recognized, the darkness was the same square as the vacant window frame. For he was seldom at home, especially not at night, he never really looked in this direction. Now for the fi rst time as he gazed at the black hollowness, there seemed to be something oddly good brightening his vision. Something like magic, hope, faith or an extraordinary superstition. He found it uncommon and almost amazingly exciting, as though a particular star was responding to his wish. He started shining. A sparkle was growing in his eye. He saw it as the light of rebirth. And the way he saw it was a holy meditation. His body felt weightless while his spirit lifted. The words soon fl ooded out of his mouth with a strange new accent that somewhat baffl ed her, as though a high priest with a sense of low self-esteem was passionately speaking in a church of the Holy Bible against those who were nonbelievers.