The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. “You mustn’t talk any more,” he said, “but I want you to listen to me just for a moment. 123 It didn’t take long. 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. Every one else does. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox.
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