John sat with his parents who arrived bubbling with excitement, bragging to everyone about Lucy’s first performance for them exclusively. He waved to her. It had thrust her back with an undignified scuffle, with vulgar comedy, with an unendurable, scornful grin. And as a natural consequence, they don’t do so well, and they don’t get on—and so the world doesn’t pay them. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. To find the true father at the expense of the beautiful fairy tale Ruth had woven around the woman in the locket was an intolerable thought.
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