The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. "Are you a poltroon, after all?" "That's it! I ought to have died that night!" "Or is there a taint of insanity in your family history? Alone and practically penniless like yourself! You weren't even stirred by gratitude. ’ ‘No. I’m a Socialist, Miss Stanley. Darrell stopped, and drew his sword. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. “A confusion of motives—that’s what I am!.
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