“John! Welcome! Happy Thanksgiving!” Cathy cried, ushering him deeper into the house. “I was sent for to go to the Hospital St. From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. “So I see that you have become content with your hardscrabble existence, your week-to-week survival, your Martin Chen!” “Who?” “Your limp-wristed lover!” “Um. 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 think of the ordinary wives and mothers, with their anxiety, their limitations, their swarms of children!” Mr.
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