They could not go on. They are not your children, they never were. 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. ‘Do not imagine that I will leave poor Jacques. Here she would find candy awaiting her, bits of ribbon, books. Now, you know where he is bound.
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