The act was mechanical, a bit of sparring for time: his anger was searching about for a new vent. "No," answered Jack, approaching her, "though, if I had done so, he would have merited his fate. " A shadow, which was not cast by the jib, fell upon them both. . She crushed the letter in her hand. And he had good reason before long to congratulate himself on his forbearance. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud.
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