Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. The little streaks upon the germinating area of an egg, the nervous movements of an impatient horse, the trick of a calculating boy, the senses of a fish, the fungus at the root of a garden flower, and the slime upon a sea-wet rock—ten thousand such things bear their witness and are illuminated. One keeps rules in order to be one’s self. She charged boldly into the space of Miss Miniver’s rhetorical pause.
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