CHAPTER THE THIRD THE MORNING OF THE CRISIS Part 1 Two days after came the day of the Crisis, the day of the Fadden Dance. All her pride raged at me. 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. "I have not told you half. The spirit I drink may be poison,—it may kill me,—perhaps it is killing me:—but so would hunger, cold, misery,—so would my own thoughts. Near the door stood a pile of deal planks, behind which the carpenter ensconced himself in order to reconnoitre, unobserved, the proceedings of his idle apprentice. “It is too late for visitors,” she remarked. Anna left the room on tiptoe. It was a gracious gesture, she thought, as he trudged to the Beck’s humble doorstep in his stiff blue polyester uniform. It struck his forehead, splitting it, and brought him to his knees. . Treasure caves to explore! All through these trying days she had recurrently wondered what this strange young man would have to say that Dickens and Hugo had not already said.
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