Will you let your servant call me a hansom,” she continued, opening the door before he could reach her side. She passed down the stairs and into the street. ‘Never. Mr. Before you have lived—” He became darkly prophetic. The sing-song girls in Hong-Kong are far handsomer. The slack of her ridinghabit and full under-petticoats was gathered into her left hand, and her booted ankles were visible as she held the skirts well out of her way. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now.
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