The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. "How goes it?" he began, heartily. A fever of shame ran through her being. Nor my grandfathers both. “To-night we are as we have always been. I tried painting and couldn’t get on. ” He shook his head. Wood. He contrived to break off his sister's match; and this he accomplished so cleverly, that he maintained the strictest friendship with Sir Cecil. “There wasn’t. "Arundel Stairs," replied Wood, "the nearest point to Wych Street. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain.
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