The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. "He knows he had to take it. Her eyes flashed. The likelihood is that I shan’t see the wench again. I would be too 222 busy protecting you. “He’s got good taste, you know. It’s these damned novels. It seems to me just talk; it seems to me like the fancy of a dream. But I do not love you. Gerald swore. You say I know nothing. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless.
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