‘And, if this was not enough,’ went on the lady furiously, ‘you dare to say I am French. The weather's been foul enough for the last fortnight, but I've never turned my back upon it. Blueskin and the Minters were dragging Wood to the pump. Listening at one of the doors leading to the Master Debtors' side, he heard a loud voice chanting a Bacchanalian melody, and the boisterous laughter that accompanied the song, convinced him that no suspicion was entertained in this quarter. 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.
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