In the dim light, punters sit sipping raspberry-flavoured Tokyo martinis, losing the freestyle sushi off their chopsticks or necking Asahi beer.

[W]hat is wanting to success, / If somehow every face, no matter how deform, / Evidence, to some one of hearts on earth, that, warm / Beneath the veriest ash, there hides a spark of soul / Which, quickened by love's breath, may yet pervade the whole / O' the grey, and, free again, be fire?

At the conference, they laid on a wonderful buffet.

The anchorage is at Mako (Makyū or Makun) on the principal island of Penghu.