She realized more and more the quality of the brink upon which she stood—the dreadful readiness with which in certain moods she might plunge, the unmitigated wrongness and recklessness of such a self-abandonment. It was fastened inside. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously. “I want to know more about this movement,” said Ann Veronica. So Ruth took another step toward her destination, which we in our vanity call destiny. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton.
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