The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. “You would have been treated differently in the Old World, the one where I came from. . ” “Shall we go now?” “I think I would like to listen to music. If you don’t think it would be a social outrage, perhaps I might walk with you to your railway station. . When the carpenter a moment afterwards stretched out his hand, scarcely knowing whether he was alive or dead, he found himself alone. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account.
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