His horse, which had apparently gone to sleep, preferred to remain where he was. It was still too dark for reading, but she could see well enough to note the number of the last page—fifty-six. She was informed by Ah Cum that the Chinaman was one of the literati and that he was expounding the deathless philosophy of Confucius, which, summed up, signified that the end of all philosophy is Nothing. For fifteen years!—so long as I can remember! All I wanted was a little love, a caress now and then. Surely she could ignore him. Although she had said a great deal when she heard about the shooting that had left poor Jack so badly injured.
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