” Anna shook her head. Her mother brewed potions to scent her hair, sweet balms of anise for her lips and hands, told her wonderful secrets, some decidedly un-Christian. He could not tell whether she was English or American. But the Ramage affair needed clearing up, of course; it was a flaw upon that project. 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. Very few survived her trials. ‘Very well, mademoiselle, so be it,’ he snapped. There was a hint of tears in her voice.
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