Yes—as he would have liked. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. And experience was slow in coming. “I cannot pretend that I am glad to see you, Lady Ferringhall,” he said quietly. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. CHAPTER THE ELEVENTH THOUGHTS IN PRISON Part 1 The first night in prison she found it impossible to sleep. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture.
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