” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. Mere formality. ” He plunged into one of his drawers, and brought up a small gold-foiled bottle. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. The door opened. “Shot through the lungs,” he remarked. “But Sir John?” he exclaimed.
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