Oh! you haven't got the key—then I must have it, I suppose. She was informed by Ah Cum that the Chinaman was one of the literati and that he was expounding the deathless philosophy of Confucius, which, summed up, signified that the end of all philosophy is Nothing. “You know,” he muttered, “you know quite well that your troubles are far more likely to weigh upon me than my own. Ye gods! what a wilderness it is! Every one trying to get the better of every one, every one regardless of every one—it’s one of those days when every one bumps against you—every one pouring coal smoke into the air and making confusion worse confounded, motor omnibuses clattering and smelling, a horse down in the Tottenham Court Road, an old woman at the corner coughing dreadfully—all the painful sights of a great city, and here you come into it to take your chances. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery.
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