She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. Come to take leave. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. He was not Meysey Hill, but an Englishman of business, and he had only a small income. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. "You mean you were just sorry for him?" "As I would be for any human being in pain.
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