There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. Immediately Spurlock began to chant one of these. Purney, the ordinary, who had latterly conceived a great regard for Jack, addressed him in a discourse, which, while it tended to keep alive his feelings of penitence, was calculated to afford him much consolation. "The gen'l'man'll be here directly. "You will not make it valueless in my eyes," he added, catching her in his arms, and pressing her to his breast. The entire city seemed to exist for beauty and art alone. So, here he was, on the last lap of middle age, in China, having missed all the thrills in life except one—the war against Death. ’ Jack Kimble took a deep breath.
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