When the disillusion comes, when the fairy story ends, if she is blessed with children, she doesn't mind. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. He dug about in his mind for a term to fit her, and he came upon the word new.
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