. . . That sink of moral pollution, whose reefs are strewn with human wrecks . . . The coast on which no gentle breezes blow . . .” —San Francisco Call, November 28, 1869 JAMESON TOOK ME DOWN TO MARKET STREET. I ASKED him to drop me near the department store where Miss Everts had purchased my gown. “I’ll walk home.” Jameson looked skeptical. I didn’t care. “I’ll be back by four.” By that time, I knew I would have found Wilkie, or I’d have given up. I went into the store and made a few purchases with some of the money Mr. Gable had paid me for the sittings. Things for Yue, mostly: a shawl, a skirt and shirtwaist, and some underthings, all of which I arranged to be delivered to Mei Lien at Miss Everts’s. Then when I was sure Jameson had left, I slipped out the side door and headed straight for the alley where I’d last seen Wilkie. It was silent and deserted. I walked all the way down to the end, but found nothing save for scraps of paper that eddied along the gutter.
