I’d come back from the ends of the earth. "But there's nothing more to see in Canton. She leaned back in the corner of the cab with a little sigh of relief. The recollection of the forlorn and loveless years—stirred into consciousness by the unexpected confrontation—bent her as the high wind bends the water-reed. What he needed most in this hour was a bottle of American rye-whisky and a friendly American bar-keep to talk to. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two. It was excellently done, especially as she loved good dinners. She sat on the edge of the bed overwhelmed, the roses cradled in her arms. At least here she was safe.
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