And thus it was that she came upon a book of Stevenson's verse—her first adventure into poetry. ‘Not kill me, I mean. Jack did not advance to meet her. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. I can be a gentleman.
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