She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. When my father died, and we were left alone in Jersey, I was quite a long time deciding whether I would go in for singing professionally or try painting. 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. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. What he did not know was this: Ruth surrendered these little secrets because the doctor had warned her that the patient must be amused and interested. She wet some absorbent cotton with alcohol and refreshed his face and neck.
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