Book3:WereMyDreamIs

ngaromaofliquorrushedathernostrils.Sheedupthemouthofthebottleandtookasip.Thewidowhrhttoherstomach.Whatgoodwine,shethought.Itmustbethe100-year-oldmaotaiwineDornahadusedtopacifyMr.Fih.Sheputthesthtlybatheporbottleandputitintoherbackpackaswell,meaningtoshareitwithDimitriwheback.Charinacarefullybypassedthebrokengssandtiowalkforward.Shecametoapcethatlookedlikeakit.Alotofbowlsanddishesyiandashesbutanarrayofpletecookingutensilshunguntouchedonthewall.Shewalkedontoanopenspacethatcouldhavebeenthebackgarden.Intheerofthegardenwasarustedwaterfaucetwithtwobuckets,mopsandingcloth.Charinaeyesbrightened.“Whydon’tIusetheseingutensilstowashandupKingDmitri’sthrohatthethrosymbolizestheauthorityseesthelightofdaya