“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. Nor can we. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. Everybody breathed a collective sigh of relief in the neighborhood, no one wanted to see how those kids would grow up.
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