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She would often steal away to tryst with him in the orchard, even now she felt her loins grow warm with the memory of his ardor. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. The lady's name's engraved inside, but so small I can scarcely read it. It was an impulse. It was locked.
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