A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. “You no longer belong to Gianfrancesco. She was sore with the perplexities of her preposterous position. 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. She began to draw on her gloves thoughtfully. But that doesn’t alter the fact that there IS innocence. I will return to Manchester at once.
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