The cause is long since lost. Richard Stoker's life as measured out in documents.

India takes the cup. (Or: people disappear all the time, but seldom to such scenic locales.)

Susan and the man in black make a palaver.

Ding Rong, in his narrowed dagger-keen focus on his task, is unsure of the time when he is first made aware of Wang Zhi’s approach. He knows only by the dark of his workroom, dim-lit by his low-burned candle, that it is well into the evening. He knows only that it is no other visitor but Wang Zhi, circling into his periphery, portended by a flutter of draping fabric, because no other but Wang Zhi would dare to come unannounced.

Solomon Tozer proves harder to tame than other men, and Hickey faces his own mutiny in miniature.

Oh! my dear fellow beings, why should we longer cherish any social acerbities, or know the slightest ill-humor or envy! Come; let us squeeze hands all round; nay, let us all squeeze ourselves into each other; let us squeeze ourselves universally into the very milk and sperm of kindness.

Irving gets pissed on and has the time of his life.

Nathan is there in the kitchen, waiting for him, unwrapping his hands.

Interviews with the Louisiana PD, 2012.

They end up keeping the dress.

Festive hotel room assignations with Fletcher and Neiman.