" Many wrinkles appeared at the corners of Ah Cum's slant eyes—as if the sun hurt—but the rest of his face remained as passive as a graven Buddha's. His literary instincts were reviving. ‘She’s an eviltempered little termagant, yes, but there’s no malice aforethought. CHAPTER XII. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. She recoiled.
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