“What are you doing?” he asked. I don’t classify. 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. The boy was all conscience, and he suffered through this conscience to such lengths that the law would be impotent to add anything. “I wonder which of us is right,” she said.
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