She had never been "My child" or "My dear"; always her name—Ruth. 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. Instead of English villas and cottages there were chalets and Italian-built houses shining white; there were lakes of emerald and sapphire and clustering castles, and such sweeps of hill and mountain, such shining uplands of snow, as she had never seen before. F. "Fold it … under the pillow. “That’s HIM,” said Ann Veronica, in sound, idiomatic English. For a time Ann Veronica’s attention was diverted by her aunt’s interest in the salted almonds.
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