I know that my Chinese husband was for several years a very happy man.
Now, I have come to the end. He left home one morning, followed to the gate by the little girl and boy (we had moved to a cottage in the suburbs).
"Bring me a red ball," pleaded the little girl.
"And me too," cried the boy.
"All right, chickens," he responded, waving his hand to them.
He was brought home at night, shot through the head. There are some Chinese, just as there are some Americans, who are opposed to all progress, and who hate with a bitter hatred all who would enlighten or be enlightened.
But that I have not the heart to dwell upon. I can only remember that when they brought my Chinese husband home there were two red balls in his pocket. Such was Liu Kanghi—a man.
