There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. You will survive, mark my words. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. It was very pretty and very dainty while it lasted, but we played it with our eyes open, and we perfectly understood the game—both of us. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “—but this cannot be. The door into the passage offered itself with an irresistible invitation—the one alternative to a public, inexplicable passion of weeping. I suppose because it IS the chief thing in life.
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