But,” and he faced them both with a still expressionless glance, “this is not the end!” Anna recovered her spirits with marvellous facility. ’ Gerald laughed. Thank him, not me, man. . ‘Imbecile. He saw Enschede, making the empty sea, alone, alone, forever alone. Loneliness—something that was almost physical: as if the vitality had been taken out of the air she breathed. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. His arm closed in around her middle and she was caught. . ’ Too late he saw his error.
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