Forgive me if a certain warmth creeps into my words! The Park is green and gray to-day, but I am glowing pink and gold. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. “Accident! She shot me,” he muttered. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire.
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