The monster, Wild, when he visited my dungeon last night, told me, to add to my misery, that she occupied a cell near me. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. “I have been training myself to look askance at beautiful things. Faugh!” She took up the last morsel of roll, and held it delicately between her long slim fingers. Why he paid so much attention to Sir James Thornhill may be explained anon.
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