“Mr. ” He ruminated for a minute. I want to be a person by myself, and to pull my own strings. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. When she reflected that Mr. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. She kept pausing in her work and regarding it, and when Capes came round to her, she first put her hand in her lap and then rather awkwardly in front of him. How much Mary knew is a mystery. But I don’t suppose you can understand. It seemed to her that her father was in some inexplicable way meaner-looking than she had supposed, and yet also, as unaccountably, appealing. 1. She looked directly at his face, his perpetually graying hair, his hawkish nose, his long cheekbones.
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