The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. . In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. My reception at West Kensington you know of. In a moment they were in the street outside.
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