On the way home he was still thoughtful. “Do you mind if I tweeze your eyebrows?” Shari asked her. You certainly had to hand it to these Chinks. The struggles of the wounded man were desperate—so desperate, that in his agony he overset the table, and, in the confusion, tore off the cloth, and disclosed a face horribly mutilated, and streaming with blood. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes.
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