'Doctor Larch does it?' Angel asked his father. 'Forget that,' she said. A brief scent of sandal wood came through the stronger garlic in the pilot's sweat. 'I think about you more and more, but I don't waste my time—or yours—thinking about who you were before I knew you.
'I can ride it,' she said. And she'd been able to observe the two women walking up the hill from the train station in the predawn glow. Their teeth were stained; their lips made them appear as if they'd been drinking blood, but that was just the betel juice. When there was a lull in their work, they were allowed to doze on the beds in the children's noncommunicable ward.
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