Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob. Her cheeks flushed a dull red. Hot coffee and cakes were sent in to them in the morning by some intelligent sympathizer, or she would have starved all day. Suddenly she thrust her head out of the window. “Time for my Patience,” she said. ’ ‘You need not be a nun,’ he said, leaning towards her. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. “It is just six o’clock now. CHAPTER IV The tourists returned to the Sha-mien at four o'clock. The campaign’s a success. He got off at Canal, and she exited behind the crowd.
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