Lose not a moment, Hobson. She perceived that his countenance was only composed by a great effort, his features severely compressed. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. She had been obliged to spend the night in that fateful bedchamber, the faithful Kimble—who had foraged at a nearby inn, bringing back a large pie and a jug of porter for his mistress—guarding the door outside. ‘Oh, peste, you make me late!’ She glared up at Roding. Brendon.
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