" The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations. A white man takes his life in his hands. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. “Why not?” “Because you are mine. Seeing from the threatening looks of his captors, that they were about to wreak their vengeance upon him, the miserable wretch besought mercy in abject terms, and charged his master with the most atrocious crimes. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. “Thanks, Cathy.
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