It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. ***** In the daytime the streets of the ancient city of Canton are yet filled with the original confusion—human beings in quest of food. The woollen-draper looked at his watch. Twenty-one, twenty-two. gutenberg. Her voice recalled him. “You’re very nice, both of you,” she said gently. I wouldn't touch the stuff for all the pearls in India. She watched as his headlights flooded the driveway and many minutes after his car was gone. “Hello, Teddy!” she answered.
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