From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Await me in the coach. “Do come and see the Michaelmas daisies at the end of the garden,” said Mr. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck.
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