So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. But for perfect satisfaction, he must take a peek into the bedroom. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. He stood up, apparently intending to put an arm about her, but she stepped back from him quickly. “Let me see,” he said. ” The man contented himself with a nod. I hate myself!” She collapsed to the floor, sobbing. ’ She flounced back to stare out of the window again. You don't notice the heat; but it is always there, pressing down. None this end. I have always hated it.
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