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. A little inn flying a Swiss flag nestles under a great rock, and there they put aside their knapsacks and lunched and rested in the mid-day shadow of the gorge and the scent of resin. It was as if she had grown right past her father into something older and of infinitely wider outlook, as if he had always been unsuspectedly a flattened figure, and now she had discovered him from the other side. “Isn’t there a brother to kick him?” “Mere satisfaction,” reflected Ogilvy. It was something that Sebastian had refused to do, a lifestyle that he placed himself above. " "You daren't use it. You’re NOT to go. He made Hong-Kong at dusk: wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was in no wise discouraged. “Silly!” he remarked after a pause. "Before you go, bring me the bottle of pineapple rum I opened yesterday.
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