You left Hong-Kong at night, by way of the Pearl River, and arrived in Canton the next morning. The opiate has done its duty. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. “Dinner is served, m’m,” said the efficient parlor-maid in the archway, and the worst was over. "Not a moment is to be lost," whispered Jonathan to Trenchard.
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