Darrell, however, rose again instantly; and though mortally wounded, made a desperate effort to regain the boat. 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. “Hello!” said Ann Veronica, with arms akimbo and a careless, breathless manner. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. And we’re going to fight that old world down there. ” His arms were around her. “She’s my wife,” the man muttered. It is no good going into that. But—if you are a friend of Mr. A bad man, in fact. Old Bedlam 291 IX.
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