Blueskin, however, was not unattended. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “but you appear to be a fellow countrywoman of mine, and in some distress. ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. “Soon enough, John. ” She shivered. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. He let go of the girl’s arm.
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