"Gone," replied the wounded man. He bowed awkwardly to Mrs. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. 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. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. He must fight the thought continually, day in and day out. Here, Jem, take the gentleman's horse to the stable—see him dressed and fed directly.
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