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I didn’t ought to have sent for him. Spit of your mother. “You needn’t be anxious about that! I shall contrive to live. His face turned a dark crimson. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. ‘I thought it must be you,’ cried the woman. ‘What, miss?’ asked Jack Kimble from behind her. I cannot let you go.

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