A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. “Well?” he asked her tersely. 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 fee is owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. I didn’t understand. A faint, delightfully humorous smile parted her lips.
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