" "My poor son!" groaned the widow, sinking backwards. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Did he like freaks? She opened her black umbrella, her giant sun deflector. ‘No, Melusine. Spurlock then?" "I imagine that Mr. " "In whose favour is it made?" he inquired, sternly. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. At length, he fell down on the road, fully expecting each moment would prove his last. "He does seem a very extraordinary person.
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