’ ‘Yolande, my maid?’ ‘You don’t need a maid,’ Martha said stoutly. A siphon and a whisky bottle stood before him. He had been dreaming of Ruth—an old recurrency of that dream he had had in Canton, of Ruth leading him to the top of the mountain. " "Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words," rejoined Jonathan, sternly. He filled his pipe slowly. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. She could not help but admit that she liked being smiled at and addressed in the hallways by hordes of friendly faces.
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