She found herself alone in the train asking herself what she must do next, and trying not to think of herself as cut off from home or any refuge whatever from the world she had resolved to face. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. “Tell me,” she insisted, “why you look like that. He's nice. There were three other ships at anchor; but as two would be making Shanghai and one rounding to Singapore two days hence, it was logically certain that no fugitive would seek haven in one of these. “Another young woman, I suppose,” he said, “who knows better than her Maker about her place in the world.
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