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‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. The Oriental has no equivalent. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. I won’t even ask. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www. I suppose the phrase—the word—originally meant a man who searched for food on the beach.
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