” “Bit starchy,” said Ann Veronica, and altered the key abruptly. For a few days she was fascinated by the place, exploring the moldy rooms, the weird treasures hiding in forgotten trousseaus. 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. The man who sat behind a pigeon-hole, and regulated the comings and goings, was for a moment absent. " "That is your fault, none of mine. I have written, called—of what avail is anything—against that look. "All right. ” Annabel shook her head. They both listened intently.
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