That her husband was not touching her anymore grew to be like a disease, something to be cured. 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. He was suddenly calm. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill.
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