‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. ‘To read and write, of course, and to sew. . ‘But a spy I am not. A chill ran through his frame, and, grasping the heavy weapon with which chance had provided him, prepared to strike down the first person who should enter the cell. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. ‘I would read your body,’ he whispered, and lifted her fingers to his lips. He was certain that those lips of hers had never known the natural and pardonable simper of youth. And so your Melusine is busy trying to prove that she is the real one. He succeeded so well that they were almost in Montague Street before Anna stopped short.
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