To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. " "Won't my life do as well as his?" supplicated the other. ‘It weren’t my wish, miss, I can tell you that. “I find it very hard to write this letter. I hear the sound of his horse's feet in the yard. His gray eyes were closed, his persimmon-colored lips open and panting. A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY. .
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