1. It was nearly one o’clock; but there were lights still in all her windows. The gallant woollen-draper was now in his thirty-sixth year. Indeed, it seemed inevitable that she must clear it up with his assistance, or not at all. 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. Michelle laughed, saying that she could only guess. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. “I hope,” said Miss Stanley, with dignity, and turned doorward with features in civil warfare. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. Sepulchre's clock struck eight.
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