“I will not have this slavery. Unless—’ Something clicked in his mind and he stared at his friend without seeing him. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. His revelry, however, was put an end at the expiration of the time mentioned by Jonathan, by the entrance of a posse of constables with Quilt Arnold and Abraham Mendez at their head. "See the devil!—not I," cried Wood impatiently.
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