An enormous poster almost covered one side of the wall—the poster. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. Immediately beneath her lay Willesden,—the most charming and secluded village in the neighbourhood of the metropolis—with its scattered farm-houses, its noble granges, and its old grey church-tower just peeping above a grove of rook-haunted trees. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. He turned to observe what this object was that had so unexpectedly diverted the young man's attention. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then.
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