On the bench was set a quartern measure of gin, a crust of bread, and a slice of cheese. And the fences are down for good. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. It was obvious that he had waited for her.
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