"All's bowman, my covey. " "God help me, what a muddle!" The cigar crumbled in Spurlock's hand. He slapped his knee. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. ‘Rather thought I’d have to disarm you when you heard of it. I won't have a beachcomber on the island.
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