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He said the place had gone to wrack. She fought him at first, screaming at him, but he did not relent. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. Drink the toast, Jack. What else was there lurked in shadows and deep places; if in some mood of reverie it came out into the light, it was presently overwhelmed and hustled back again into hiding. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. And put ‘em in little books for remembrance.
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