The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. “Just look that through, will you. If you knew anything about Canton ware, you were, as like as not, sorely tempted to stuff a teacup into your pocket. I'm always shy the price of the ticket home. She said that in the note. Why should you who are queens come down from your thrones? If you can afford it, WE can’t. Something in her lack of embarrassment irritated him. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence.
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