“We must go. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. Let me have more light, that I may behold him. Sheppard, a matron offered to conduct him to her cell. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue.
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