Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. Ho-hum! CHAPTER IX The Hong-Kong packet lay alongside the warehouse frontage. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. Of course, I can't promise you the job definitely. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. I have never told you so, or Sydney, but I can sing—rather well.
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