‘It—it is—nothing,’ she uttered jerkily. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. He wasn't sure, but he thought he saw a faint shudder stir her shoulders. “Why do you hate me again, my love?” He seemed to brighten, feeding upon the intensity of her emotion. Austin. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. She had not made friends with any; so they still eyed her askance.
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