On their left the river, with its gloomy pile of buildings on the opposite side, and a huge revolving advertisement throwing its strange reflection upon the black water. 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. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. God bless you, anyhow!" she added, with a spontaneity which surprised Sister Angelina into uttering an individual gasp. There are way-stations—even terminals.
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