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Chapter XXIII MONTAGUE HILL SEES LIGHT AT LAST At exactly ten minutes past ten Annabel rang the bell of her sister’s flat. 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. Then she raised the glass nearer to her lips. They would arrive sometime in June. " "Palliate them as you may," replied the widow, gravely, "they were faults; and as such, cannot be repaired by a greater wrong. He went by another name then,—Rykhart Scherprechter I think he called himself.
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