He is still there, holding the belt in hisright hand. I stare at him a little more and when Irealize he’s not going to strike me again I sink to...myknees. I’ve never felt weaker.My chin is tucked into my chest and my hands cover myface as I sob as silently as I can. His hand seizes myhair, so tightly that I realize he must have wrappedit around his fist, and he pulls me up and tosses meback on the desk.‘I’m still not done,’ he says, hoarsely.I’m too tired to. Part The Ninth.---------------------The eight cuts.The fortress loomed over the huddle of the small town like a brooding presence. It was no more than a medieval fort but the modern, breech loading artillery on the walls said much about its owner and his local power. Cavalry paraded with red banners, the leftover elite dregs of the Manchu horsemen who had ruled China for hundreds of years. Now they were mercenaries who sought only to survive the revolutionary convulsions in China. Over their. More

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