“These are her rooms,” she said. They have no ideas what to do with us. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. “Who did you live with before the Becks? I hear things. Wood," she continued, in an authoritative tone, seeing her husband ready to depart, "one word before you set out. Lucy stepped inside. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. The stench is everywhere. Dear God, what a beautiful moment!" The fire went out of Spurlock's eyes and the shadow of hopeless weariness fell upon him. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded.
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