He encouraged her to join him in his debauchery. Glancing idly up at her own window as they had swung round the corner she had seen a strange thing. The inn was a military haunt. 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. Spurling, who sat on the right of the table. Do you think she does?” Ann Veronica picked among her salad with a judicial expression of face. Be so good as to let me pass, sir,” she added, looking her obstructor steadily in the face. The chief of these was a figure of Liberty, with a cat at her feet, in allusion to the supposed origin of the fortunes of its former founder, Sir Richard Whittington.
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