During this period Sir Montacute has been gathered to his fathers. A white apron was tied round his waist, and into the apron was thrust a short thick truncheon, which looked very much like a rolling-pin. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. "What the devil are you about! Will you allow yourself to be beaten by a couple of kids?" "Not if I can help it," returned Abraham, making a desperate effort to regain his feet.
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