In the artificial light her skin had the tint and lustre of a yellow pearl. She was dressed as a white woman should be; and that for the present satisfied her instincts. She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. She could not stir hand or foot. She would just have to show up and hope for the best. Above this revolting spot was the female debtor's ward; below it a gloomy cell, called Tangier; and, lower still, the Stone Hold, a most terrible and noisome dungeon, situated underground, and unvisited by a single ray of daylight. “I can’t conceive what you want. They litter up the room. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. “Yes.
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