She glared at him with satisfaction. Perhaps an hour passed before she laid aside the book. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. "This locket," he said, taking a little ornament attached to a black ribband from his breast, and giving it her,—"do you remember it?" "I do—I do!" cried Winifred. He looked at her with a certain curiosity. ” Horace, the manservant, transformed now into the semblance of a correctly garbed waiter, threw open the door. ‘Oh, I do love a flatterer. He had heard me sing—the fool thought himself in love with me. Beauty doesn’t mean, never has meant, anything—anything at all but you.
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