“You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. ’ He called through the library door. ‘Maman?’ ‘How touching,’ said a sarcastic voice behind her in French. He drew a little breath of relief. 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. "That's it!"—eagerly. You have been to me like a mother, not only a wetnurse. She veiled her emotion by taking off his overcoat. “Of course,” he ventured, “I could try for more at the ‘Alhambra. Compared to most of America, you’re rich. “Oh, much better.
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