A pity, en effet, that she dare not truly desire him to rescue her. It had rained during the night, and the patch-work pavement was greasy with mud. One of his chair coolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcher to the sampan in the canal. Then he turned round and gazed thoughtfully at the particular spot in the fog where Courtlaw had disappeared. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song.
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