This page needs to be proofread.
"My God!" the boy cried. "Mr. Wu!"
Nang Ping turned slowly round, looked at her father as if entranced and dazed, then with a scream that cut through the hot air like the voice of a child that had been knifed and was dying, fell prostrate at the foot of the bridge, and lay moaning with her face on Basil Gregory's shoe, her hands, with some last instinct to protect him, clasped about his silk-clad ankle.
