Living, he knew that he would never send that letter. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. It was the gallows. At this moment, a door was opened below; lights gleamed on the walls; and the figures of Rowland and Sir Cecil were distinguished at the foot of the stairs. “It was best for me to know. You seem to want this chap out of Canton. It—it is nothing,’ she said, although with a tremor in her voice.
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