Come on. She would not look at him, would not think of him; when her mind wavered, then she muttered to herself in the darkness so as to keep hold of her generalizations. "Close the door!" commanded Trenchard, impatiently. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. What had actually beaten him was not to have known if someone had picked up his trail. The echo of those kindly words seemed still to ring in her ears. I see.
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