h, San Francisco, my dream city. My San Francisco is everywhere. I like the dirty brown hills, the black soil and the sandy beaches. I like the tall buildings, the bridges, the parks and the roar of city traffic. They are of me and I feel like humming
Comes back to the imagery of the dirty brown hills, but this time, in a positive tone.
Finally we began to see the dirty brown hills and the houses that jutted out of the ground. This was different from what I had dreamed, and I was speechless.
It seems like there is some sadness with what is being seen. She expected to see some gorgeous city of dreams and all she saw was dirty brown hills and houses. Not what she was thinking it would look like.
Why was I going to America? Why had I been foolish enough to leave my village? For days I could not lift my head. Turn back? Did the ship turn back for me? No, child. A steamer never turns back for an individual. Not for death or birth or storm. No more does life
I find this to be a very powerful section where a lot of emotion is being released.