He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Then her fingers moved. ‘You know perfectly well that she is the daughter of the Comtesse de St Erme.
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