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Mr. She threw him his car keys. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. Here was no crooked soul; a little weak perhaps, impulsive beyond common, but fundamentally honest. "You forgot your lunch," she said. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death.
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