A crisis had been reached, and she was almost glad it had been reached. “I can’t believe it. As he passed along the main thoroughfare, he heard his own name pronounced, and found that it was a hawker, crying a penny history of his escapes. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. It now occurred to him that she had always been fully dressed.
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