“I remember when you walked me home. Her back arched and she felt herself instinctively sinking into him. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. They were so nearly alike that the difference would be due to a shaky hand. ” She glanced shyly at the mirror above her dressing-table, and then about her at the furniture, as though it might penetrate to the thoughts that peeped in her mind.
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