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"Wretch!" cried Jack. 9. Had she not seen them go forth with tracts in their pockets and grins in their beards? To set fire to his imagination, to sting his sense of chivalry into being, to awaken his manhood, she must present some irresistible project. ‘Wait, Jacques! I will find the way to open this. ‘Here, miss,’ came faintly from somewhere close at hand. It reminded her of one of the old tales her mother Marina had told her about a sculptor named Farhat. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. "The natives have foolish ways of saying things. One has to train one’s self not to. " "Take it back yourself," retorted Jack, sullenly.
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