"Their funds support charities," Gibbons remarked.
"Well, then, I'll tell you what I intend to do."
violating his own sense of right and wrong, but also bringing upon
would probably mean he would have to find the cash, and he is heading for
  “I hope so,” I said, returning the smile. “But I think I’d better speak to the bank manager.”
  The village head had no time for his stories about Chief Yuan or Unlucky Yuan, about his watch (or the lack of it), for his bawls and wails, did no more than throw him a sideways glance. A fanatical opera addict, the village head went off to Tiananmen that evening to watch a show. Unfortunately there was no good opera that day. A troupe from near Shuanglong Bow took to the stage, singing some cobbled-together drum dances, their operatics, movements, costumes and make-up so scrappy they looked just like a few people who'd gotten together to thresh and dry grain on a stage. They sang utter nonsense, in fact if they ran out of words they'd produce obscenities or bits of nonsense, quite happy just to get a laugh from the audience. A lot of the audience had hurled their shoes at the stage.

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