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. "You must not remain here," he said. Then she looked up the sweep of pine-trees to the towering sunlit cliffs and the high heaven above and then back to his face. " "Sir Rowland Trenchard!" echoed Jack, in amazement.
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