The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. Her thoughts were deflected from Vivie Warren by the peculiar behavior of a middle-aged gentleman in Piccadilly. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. Marthe has told me that the house comes to my mother, Ma—ry Re—men—ham. We must always move on. “Yeah, where the hell were you? My friends would have driven you home when I came home if I could have found you. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life.
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