Winny, my love, come with me. 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. Unconscious that his movements were watched, Shotbolt, meanwhile, hastened towards Wych Street. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!—capital pie!—and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary.
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