They are the only happy women in the Orient. They sat face to face beneath an experienced-looking rucksack and a brand new portmanteau and a leather handbag, in the afternoon-boat train that goes from Charing Cross to Folkestone for Boulogne. I don’t quite know why. " "You are very good to me, Hoddy. In her case the barrier was not selfishness but the perception that her interest would be misinterpreted, naturally. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton.
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