"I call this ere crib the Little-Ease, arter the runaway prentices' cells in Guildhall. You seem to want this chap out of Canton. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. She was an indignant queen, no doubt she was alarmed and disgusted within limits; but she was highly excited, and there was something, some low adventurous strain in her being, some element, subtle at least if base, going about the rioting ways and crowded insurgent meeting-places of her mind declaring that the whole affair was after all—they are the only words that express it—a very great lark indeed. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. But if he speaks—I fear what he may tell. I was compelled to run away. Ennison’s manner was certainly not one of a willing host. ‘All so long ago and my memory ain’t what it was. She had even confided to him how lonely it was in the island.
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