From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Fortescue’s steps, and encountered him with an air of artless surprise. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. The Dawn Pearl. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. She had never felt so acutely the desire for free initiative, for a life unhampered by others.
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