““My angel,” he says, cradling her.“I’m not an angel, Daniel.”“Yes, you are.”“No! I’m not an angel and I’m not a whore. I have intelligence and passion, strength and perseverance. I am capable of abstract thought, intellectual accomplishment, and artistic expression just like you, sir.”He ponders that as the brougham trots up Fifth Street to Market. “What shall I call you, then?”Zhu smiles. “You may call me a woman.””