At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. ‘Let go!’ ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ Gerald demanded. She had found him! Excitement welled. She hid behind a mirage of piety, just as I do. Her hair touched water, becoming like the seaweed in its velvet slickness. You ought to know that. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Montague Hill, and I do not think that under those circumstances I should be long about it.
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