San Francisco [antikvár]

Phoebe Salomon bolted upright in bed and found herself panting breathlessly in the middle of a dimiy üt room. She couid not discern her surroundings and at first thought she was in her cell at the Presidio Asylum for íncurables. Leaning back against the pillows, she tried to focus her thoughts. Slowly it all came back to her-the escape from the asylum, the altercation on the pier, the rescue by a Chinese man and his servant, the ride to his home somewhere in Chinatown, the sickness and dizziness she had been feeling ever since her arrival. The last thing she could remember was waking up and being given somé sort of medicine, then falling back asleep. Every thing else was blackness. As Phoebe explored the unfamiliar surroundings, the room began to spin, and her heart raced faster and louder, an incessant drumming that was pounding her into unconsciousness. She reached up toward a lamp on the dresser and caught a glimpse of dark-clad figures pushing through the doorway and crowding over her. She rolled over and feli onto her back, but she never felt herself hit the floor. And as she hurtled into the blackness, she wondered if somehow she had tumbled through the window and was sailing down into the courtyard-or if this was merely that dark, familiar abyss.