Canton was something like a blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. He daren't quarrel with me: and if he does, let him look to himself. “One can’t tell. ‘Who in the name of heaven is this Leonardo? And why did he kiss you?’ ‘He was an Italian soldier, and he wanted to kiss me,’ Melusine said, goaded. The four tourists contributed varied sums: the spinsters ten cents each, the girl a shilling, the young man a Mexican dollar.
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