Which were perfectly true, as Gerald was aware. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. "My son," she murmured, wringing her hands piteously—, "my son the companion of thieves! My son in Jonathan Wild's power! It cannot be. Canton was something like a blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. I wrenched this off, and in an envelope addressed to me in faded ink, I found the locket and the pearls.
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