‘Left to yourself, my girl, you may not have any affairs. From then until four in the afternoon there was nothing to do—the whole island went to sleep. "Many thanks, Sir," replied Thornhill, with freezing politeness; "but Id not require assistance. 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. Try and let him never regret it. " Ruth had read from page to page in "The Child's Garden of Verse," generally unfamiliar to the admirers of Stevenson.
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