She walked down the station approach, past the neat, obtrusive offices of the coal merchant and the house agent, and so to the wicket-gate by the butcher’s shop that led to the field path to her home. The sing-song girls in Hong-Kong are far handsomer. It never seems to enter their heads to try and amuse their menkind. The doors of several of the wards were thrown open for these parties, and as Jack passed, he could not help glancing at the wretched inmates. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed. ‘Coward,’ she threw at him, brandishing the sword.
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