“What is the exact force of a motif?” she asked at random. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other. The glass in the windows was broken—the roof unthatched—the walls dilapidated. There is a railroad. On their return, the jailers raised up Jonathan, who was weltering in his blood, and who appeared to be dying. London, Paris, Rome! There were no hotel labels on the patient's trunk, but there were ship labels; and by these she was able to reconstruct the journey: from New York to Naples, thence to Alexandria; from Port Saïd to Colombo; from Colombo to Bombay; from Calcutta to Rangoon, thence down to Singapore; from Singapore to Hong-Kong.
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