"There's the house," said Jack, pointing to a pretty cottage, the small wooden porch of which was covered with roses and creepers, with a little trim garden in front of it. “Are we cool?” Michelle asked her. She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. Your own safety—the child's safety—depends upon your candour.
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