notes4

Sarah could barely conceive how the contents of this room were
transported, how many porters and servants, carts or trucks might be
required to drag it from one piece of the jungle to the next, keeping
pace with the work of the White Devil. They also needed to keep
away from the Free French authorities, who could decide that even
missionaries from an enemy nation might be safer under lock and key
• However, the grandiose sense of scale was choked by the
atmosphere. The darkness and the candlelight just added to the
sweltering heat, saturated air, and intense pressure. The
claustrophobic space made Sarah feel short of breath, that she
might asphyxiate or drown where she sat. The thick stench of
sweat from the assembled diners was just a minor discomfort in
comparison. “You’re late,” growled a man at the head of the
table, gripping the arms of an oversized chair like it was a
throne. It wasn’t possible to guess his age. He seemed both
youthful and impossibly old all at once. There was a fire in his
eyes that spoke of a childlike vitality, but they sat in a jowl-laden
face, skin tanned and wizened by ten thousand suns or more