For a few minutes all was silent. Lucy had baked the apple and pumpkin pies, carefully molding the flour crusts and adding extra teaspoonfuls of allspice and cinnamon while no one looked. His pulses beat fast as he walked, his feet fell lightly upon the pavement. The theme was a masquerade. It was too good to be true. ” He stuttered. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. 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.
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