Poor Ruth: for a father, a madman; for a husband—a thief! Spurlock rocked his body slightly. 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. Left to Capting Roding, as he told me hisself, you’d be in prison this moment.
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