felt as though she were stifling, burning with fever. Her mouth was dry.
Over the bamboo bridge an orange moon hung so low it brushed the trees. A cool breeze stirred melodiously through a small forest of speckled bamboo, a species known as "The Bamboo of Shun's Wives."
Yang Kuei-fei walked to the cool brook's edge. She knelt, dipping her hands into the water. She felt like casting off her light garments and plunging in. However, she refrained, contenting herself with laving her face with the water. So cold it was, it momentarily banished the fever.
Near by was a stone bench, immersed in willow shadows. Though there was nobody about, she did not wish even the moon to pry into her frightening thoughts. At that moment, she hated An Lu-shan. What right had he to come unto the Palace and shake her world until all her dreams were in danger of tumbling down upon her? An officer of a regiment! Small renown indeed. Was common sense deserting her? An affair with An Lu-shan might blot out forever the possibility that some day she would be Empress. Better would it be, if An Lu-shan were killed in battle.
The next moment she was all contrition. Remorseful that she had indulged in such insidious thoughts. An Lu-shan was an honored patriot. His life was devoted to the Empire. His eyes were the deepest, the most sensuous, the crudest she had ever beheld. They made her shiver, tingle, flame hot, then cold as snow. What
an impassioned lover he must be, with fierce tender-
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