With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds. Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. 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. Spurlock slept on.
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