The Great War to Jane had not been romance and adventure; her imagination,
lively enough in other directions, had not falsely coloured the stupendous
crime. She had accepted it instantly for what it was--pain, horror, death,
hunger, and pestilence. She saw it as the genius of Vasili Vereshchagin
and Émile Zola had seen it.

The pioneer--after all, what was it he was truly seeking? Freedom! And as
soon as ever civilization caught up with him he moved on. Without
understanding it, that was really all Jane wanted--freedom. Freedom from
genteel poverty, freedom from the white walls of hospitals, freedom from
exactly measured hours. Twenty four hours a day, all her own; that was
what she wanted; twenty-four hours a day to do with as she pleased--to
sleep in, play, laugh, sing, love in. Pioneers, explorers,
adventurers--what else do they seek? Twenty-four hours a day, all their
own!

At half after eight--about the time Ling Foo slid off his stool--the
tender from the transport sloshed up to the customs jetty and landed Jane,
a lone woman among a score of officers of various nationalities. But it
really wasn't the customs jetty her foot touched; it was the outer rim of
the whirligig.

Some officer had found an extra slicker for her and an umbrella. Possibly
the officer in olive drab who assisted her to the nearest covered 'ricksha
and directed the placement of her luggage.

"China!"

"Yes, ma'am. Mandarin coats and oranges, jade and jasmine, Pekingese and
red chow dogs."