What was the matter with the dress? She could not see. He looked at her for a moment in a puzzled sort of way. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. They order me to get my man, and I get him. Burn your palette and your easel. "Is it indeed you, or am I dreaming?" "You're not dreaming, mother," he answered. He stopped abruptly before the apparently incurious Chinaman. “Where are they?” She looked around.
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