The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. She trailed him to his apartment and a black door that read 727 in solemn gold-tone lettering. you walking home?\" 3 She paused, stunned. " The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations. The late afternoon, en effet. Bah. Wood required little pressing. With nobody who cares … the both of us!" He was real in this moment. But she doesn’t and won’t divorce me. .
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