I’m not discussing Shakespeare. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. “Limp,” he answered. E. I stubbornly insisted that we wait, and you woke up. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. She was not squeamish—although the sight of the sergeant’s ominous preparations had severely tried her fortitude—but Kimble’s white face plagued her conscience.
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