You have made for yourself a unique place upon the stage. 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. And you will. She loves you too well for that. “It really seems as if we shall have to put down marigolds altogether next year,” Aunt Molly repeated three times, “and do away with marguerites. The question ceased to be a tea-table talk, and became suddenly tragically real for Ann Veronica. She knew she was a monster and so did they.
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