As soon as he had gained his feet, he glanced round the bare blank walls of the cell, and, oppressed by the musty, close atmosphere, exclaimed, "I'll let a little fresh air into this dungeon. "Shir Rowland Trenchard's affair— eh?" "That's it," rejoined Jonathan; "I expect him here every minute. It does not work, I still suffer madness. I suspect he has a bit of vanity. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil.
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