Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. "What's that you're saying about Jack Sheppard?" she cried. For hats that fail and hats that flare; Toppers their universal wear; A man scores always, everywhere.
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