Stanley’s pace slackened. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. “It is a hateful story. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed.
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