One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. ‘En effet, it is for this that I was enquiring of this man if he has pen and paper. “It’s—it’s a difficult question. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. He was as hard as a rock.
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