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Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. After rifling the room of everything portable, including some of Mrs. Love was joy, and joyous she was when alone. Better check on Remenham House, I suppose. Her head dipped deeply into the current, and she narrowly escaped being swamped. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. This one too she read.
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