Ma Hla May came across to the bed, sat down on the edge and put her arms rather abruptly round Flory. She smelled at his cheek with her flat nose, in the Burmese fashion. “Why did my master not send for me this afternoon?” she said. “I was sleeping. It is too hot for that kind of thing.” “So you would rather sleep alone than with Ma Hla May? How ugly you must think me, then! Am I ugly, master?” “Go away,” he said, pushing her back. “I don’t want you at this time of day.” “At least touch me with your lips, then. (There is no Burmese word for to kiss.) All white men do that to their women.”
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