" The Wastrel laughed. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. Captain Roding strode into the parlour. The life with which he had endued these sheets of paper began to beckon imperiously. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. With his tongue lolling and his flea-bitten stump wagging apologetically, he glanced from face to face to see if there was any forgiveness visible. Every eye seemed focussed upon her; and yet she had known the sensation to be the conceit of her imagination. “Some afternoon. Business exists for such interruptions. ” Anna shivered a little.
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