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“Listen,” she said. At length, at the end of a passage, next to the cell where Mrs. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. "Well, like or not, I'm greatly pleased with it, and must beg it from you as a memorial——" "Of what?" she interrupted, startled by his change of manner. And my wife won’t live with me for reasons that I think most women would consider sound. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. ‘Hadn’t meant you to know,’ said the nun gruffly.
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