“No,” she answered. I didn't mean it. Even in her painting smock and with her disarranged hair, the likeness between the two girls was marvellous. ‘But how do you come here?’ ‘Down on a routine patrol, unluckily for you,’ he answered grimly. 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. With what airs we human atoms invest ourselves! What ridiculous fancies of our importance! We believe we have destinies, when we have only destinations: that we are something immortal, when each of us is in truth only the repository of a dream. And what will they do, and where will they go?" "With me—the both of them.
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