My foster mother, Janine, wasn’t much fatter. Have you suffered?" "Dear God!… every hour since!" "The Spurlock conscience. 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. She saw her mother, her pale face, a woman in a white robe, calling to her from a sun drenched balcony.
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