One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. The night was clear and moonlit, dazzling with even light blue shadows that shone into manicured lawns and pristine gardens. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. The one fault, indeed, of this school of fiction for him was that it had rather a light way with parental rights. Boys were ordered to wear white buttondown shirts and pleated black trousers. That is what they think we are for!” “We’re beasts,” said Teddy. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance.
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