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. It was decrepit and too large. Leonardo would not have married her. As soon as the cavalcade stopped, the sexton advanced, and, ringing a handbell, pronounced the following admonition. ‘Left to yourself, my girl, you may not have any affairs. . Their small talk continued. " "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. .
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