Suddenly he came to a stop, his mouth agape. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure. “There’s another instinct, too,” he went on, “in a state of suppression, unless I’m very much mistaken; a child-expelling instinct. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. ” “And no one else—has a key?” “I believe,” she said, “that that man must have one. Ennison stood still for a moment, swinging his latchkey upon his finger. ’ He moved to his friend and grasped his hand in a gesture as deliberately dramatic as the storytelling of mademoiselle.
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