“This,” he exclaimed, “must be either the indifference of an utterly callous nature, or it may be—ye gods, it may be—innocence. Well, one must hope, that was all. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. His safety must be looked to.
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