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. "I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel," he remarked. In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. At first she thought he was endeavouring to rid himself of the fleas, but after a time she came to understand that the muck had healing qualities and soothed the burning scratches made by his claws. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. She laughed nervously, but kept her eyes averted. “How are you feeling?” She asked.
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