“We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. "Hist!" cried Rowland, arresting his comrade.
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