But just as they were about to place him on the ground, he burst from their hold, and made a desperate spring at Jonathan, who was standing with his arms folded near the door watching the scene. Their idea of maidenly innocence was just a blank white—the sort of flat white that doesn’t shine. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. The winters were bitter here, they could have just as easily been frozen off.
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