. 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. You may go back, Marthe. You only live a block away!” 236 “I’ll do my best. Of course, one doesn’t like to talk about things until there are things to talk about. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. It was a gray day in the spring of 1910.
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