But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. So, very carefully, he raised her in his arms and carried her to her bed. Then Anna spoke more seriously than usual. S. Stanley pointed to the letter with a pipe he had drawn from his jacket pocket. An immediate halt took place. For hours after she had not been sensible to life, only to exquisite echoes. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language.
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