A few yards further off something grey, inert, was lying, a huddled-up heap of humanity twisted into a strange unnatural shape. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack. He would know the truth then once and for all. From the second descended Mr. "The natives have foolish ways of saying things. And the jailers also retired.
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