No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. “It’s my fault. ‘Then we will beg. “And yet,” he said, “you bid me talk cheerfully, or not at all. There were neither texts nor rubbish on the walls, but only a stirring version of Belshazzar’s feast, a steel engraving in the early Victorian manner that had some satisfactory blacks.
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