“John’s here. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. "Look at these fetters," returned Thames, holding up his manacled wrists; "they were put on by my uncle's command. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. He would refuse to listen and absolve her unshriven. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked.
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