“It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed. Every one looked at Anna. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. I must have been very wound up. 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. What had she so nearly said? She had almost spoken a name—and quickly withdrawn it. The carpenter threw himself flat upon the starling to avoid the fury of the wind. A hush descended across the audience as instruments tuned, creating small ladders of fifths that collapsed abruptly, snatches of solos that disappeared and reappeared like gags in a house of mirrors.
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