I’ve—dreads. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. ’ ‘You traitor, Gerald,’ laughed Lucilla, her yellow curls bouncing under a huge straw bonnet all over flowers. But we can’t help noticing. ’ She shrugged fatalistically. “I am tired,” she said, “and I want to rest.
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