There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly. Jack looked towards the door. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. Ennison, or any other young man. That is a part of the show in Hong-Kong. The ladies can't sleep in their beds for him; and as to the men, they daren't go to bed at all.
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