You see, the horse it does not belong to me, nor to the nuns. The longing to talk to someone! But in the end she had gone to her room without giving in to the craving. 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. He just walked in a few minutes ago. Even her debt to him was a triviality now. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. At other times, it would seem that the sea itself had gone away. ” “Come in out of the cold,” said Capes, and took her arm.
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