" Spurlock turned his dull eyes and tried to focus hers. Most of you Americans pattern all Chinese upon those who fill a little corner in New York. ” He appeared to be paralyzed by abstruse acoustic calculations. “I wonder,” he said, and went off at a tangent. He still watched her and questioned her. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. "It's an ill wind that blows nobody good," thought the carpenter, turning his attention to the child, whose feeble struggles and cries proclaimed that, as yet, life had not been extinguished by the hardships it had undergone. She found she was trembling at his nearness and full of a thrilling dread that he might touch her. The blinds were all drawn, the sunlight kept out, one could not tell what colors these gray swathings hid.
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