In a moment the brisk evening breeze caught the lank canvas and bellied it taut. So she said: “I won’t come home. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Were I to let you go, you'd say I feared you. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license.
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