” She fumbled with her keys and opened the front door. He was still thickly clad in jeans. For ten years I've been trying to go home, but my conscience will not permit me, I hate the Orient. One of the coolies held the paper lantern. For a time he heard no more, and stared with stony eyes at a Book-War proclamation in leaded type that filled half a column of the Times that day. He could not doubt it.
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