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. It was not for a week or a month. Lucy was filled with happiness, it was her third Christmas at the Becks. She was faint from hunger, her head spinning into dizziness, the blood madness readying for battle. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "a letter, beginning 'dearest Aliva,'—that's your mother's name, Thames.
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