The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. But I expect him back every minute. There was first the Avenue, which ran in a consciously elegant curve from the railway station into an undeveloped wilderness of agriculture, with big, yellow brick villas on either side, and then there was the pavement, the little clump of shops about the postoffice, and under the railway arch was a congestion of workmen’s dwellings. They seemed the most wrapped things in all Ann Veronica’s wrappered world. There lay upon this stand a book bound in limp black leather—the Holy Bible.
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