“I wish you would not do it. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. A minute pressure inwards showed him that it was not locked. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Pausing with the intention of turning back, he glanced in the direction of the village church, the tower of which could just be seen through the trees. He was a London man of business, spending a small legacy in Paris. However good you were to me, and however happy I was in other ways, I should find this intolerable. . Sheppard, meekly.
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