Wood then took to his heels, and never once looked behind him till he reached his own dwelling in Wych Street. He fended these things off from him with the rump of his fourth piece of cake. “As I have explained many a time, Lucia, the maladies of the blood and flesh do not afflict us. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible. The Master of the Mint. 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.
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