“Mr. He had heard nothing. Ramage,” she cried, “you are outrageous! You understand nothing. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. His name was Peter. Sheppard, fixing her glazing eyes upon him. “Did they ever try it for themselves?” He wrestled his chin between her thighs as she tried to squeeze her legs shut upon his ears. A broken laugh followed the action. Even the teachers were getting restless, the seniors gnawing hard at the bit as graduation teased.
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