She galloped up the small stairs, hearing that Shari had finally risen. “Don’t you have a wife? Where are your children?” She asked. Gosse must now fight with his back to the altar, and a dais at his heels. He was confined in the Middle Stone Ward, a spacious apartment, with good light and air, situated over the gateway on the western side, and allotted to him, not for his own convenience, but for that of the keepers, who, if he had been placed in a gloomier or more incommodious dungeon, would have necessarily had to share it with him. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. “It means that I have had enough of this slavery,” she declared. The lines about his mouth gradually softened.
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