"Not so," replied Jack, throwing down the skreen. The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. He did make her perceive something of the acute, tormenting desire for her that had arisen in him and possessed him. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. You’re a piss-poor liar, John. She held out her arm straight before her, and turned her hand this way and that. “Bless you, sweetheart. My heart misgives me. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu.
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