Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. The Supper at Mr. Only promise me this. “Don’t forget to take off your shoes. He turned round toward her and found her looking at him and standing very still. She had, by the magic of recollection, set the picture of the typhoon between herself and her table companions: the terrible rollers thundering on the white shore, the deafening bellow of the wind, the bending and snapping palms, the thatches of the native huts scattering inland, the blur of sand dust, and those two outcasts defying the elements. What does it matter? I am not a pauper, Annabel.
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