He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. He admitted that it would bore him to dally here in Canton, with the pleasures of Hong-Kong so close. Why not kill her here, and leave silently, the way he must have come? Could it be that he had not the intention to kill her? En tout cas, it gave her a chance. She donned her gloves. Empty, silly, coarse brutes. He beheld the grey tower of Willesden Church, embosomed in its grove of trees, now clothed, in all the glowing livery of autumn. “I don’t believe there is one. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned. They either ran to see or ran for shelter.
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