“The very question, my dear sister,” she said, “tells me that I have succeeded. In all other respects they differed as materially. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. Don’t think it was anything better than fever—or a bit beautiful. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Clarice loved babies as much as Lucia did and chattered about them day and night. It is the old story of a Westerner meddling with an Eastern custom. She told us that it was a disguise.
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