‘For God’s sake, let go my hand,’ he begged. “All right. He had no wish to go foraging in Spurlock's trunk. Murder had become nothing to her. Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. She smiled encouragingly, laying aside her plate and turning her chair from the table. “Let’s go. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death. She declined and finished with a few of her favorite excerpts from Scheherazade.
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