The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Later, she understood his reasons; and it had now become habit. Even our coarseness. Anna leaned back with half closed eyes. Well, what about it?" "I accept. Let us have no more of this humbug. Had it come already? Chapter XXVII JOHN FERRINGHAM, GENTLEMAN “Confess, my dear husband,” Annabel said lightly, “that you are bewildered. Purney's hand-writing," said Jack, advancing, "and can at once decide whether this is a forgery or not. ‘Of course.
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