Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. The fact itself is regrettable enough—regrettable, I fear, is quite an inadequate word. Miss Stanley walked round the garden thinking, and presently house and garden reverberated to Ann Veronica’s slamming of the front door. It was his mother, and as he gazed on her pallid features and motionless frame, Jack's heart severely smote him. "Read the first chapter of Job"; beyond that, nothing. 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. “No, he grabbed my hand. It began to rain, a cold sweat of precipitation that was more sickly than refreshing. He has a way of sitting on people. Don't shake so. “Delicious!” she murmured. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances.
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