Gracious, there’s the gong. (What was the name he had given her that day?) He was walking beside the chair upon which appeared to be a bundle of colours. Sure, I lose one occasionally—if he stays in New York. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. At the head of the cart was placed the coffin. The enclosure by which it was surrounded was about twelve feet high; the under part being composed of taken planks, the upper of a strong iron grating, surmounted by sharp iron spikes. “Now she’s all hat and ideas,” he said, with an air of humor.
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