The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. Then to the Golden Ball, in the same street. She had recourse to the torn off strip of petticoat again, and blowing her nose with an air of determination, sniffed back the tears. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. And so sudden and well-directed was the assault, that he completely overthrew his gigantic antagonist.
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