Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. Spurlock knew that somewhere along the way he would write a story worth while. "I have nearly done," replied the stranger. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. Under her feet lay intricate mosaics, and each warm hall was festooned in tapestries. Wild's dwelling without apprehension, or quitted it without satisfaction.
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