"If I had my old tools with me, we'd soon master this obstacle," he muttered. “No, Lucy, because Satan does not exist. " Neither man spoke. ‘I thought it was his great-nephew, young Brewis Charvill, who is his heir. ‘Come, Jacques, mon pauvre,’ she uttered, and reached for the lad again, hardly aware of the muted sounds of running feet and much banging and crashing beyond the secret door. ’ A little sigh escaped her. 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. I don’t care what else there is in the world.
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