“I don’t know,” said Ann Veronica; “I think I am. ’ ‘Then you will die at the hands of the canaille. But tell me one thing I don’t understand—tell me one thing: How can you help it by coming down into the battle and the mire? That’s the thing that concerns me. I have been dreaming of your body and you night after night. 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. What Miss Miniver would have called the Higher Truth supervenes. No! I do not even know that he cares for me.
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