The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. At last she was roused. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. "Stir a foot, at your peril. ” The idea struck him as novel. "Ever play one of these machines?" "Yes. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought.
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