The bed was hard beyond any experience of hers, the bed-clothes coarse and insufficient, the cell at once cold and stuffy. This was enough for the poor widow. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. There was a sharp knocking at the outside door. Wood, disdainfully. “I remember it very well indeed. " He passed it over; and Ruth read: To be opened in case of my death and the letter inside forwarded to the address thereon. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil.
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