She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. She turned back to Gerald, holding out her hand. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. There stood John and Mr. All the world about her seemed to be—how can one put it?—in wrappers, like a house when people leave it in the summer.
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