The poor boy, whose hands were pinioned behind him, looked very pale, but neither trembled, nor exhibited any other symptom of alarm. “Why, what is the matter with you? What do you mean?” Annabel laughed scornfully. “What did it matter?” she cried. I keep my finger on the pulse of things. “I am developing ailments,” she said, meeting his questioning eyes. He admitted that it would bore him to dally here in Canton, with the pleasures of Hong-Kong so close.
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