The evening breeze came; the bamboo shades on the veranda clicked and rasped; the loose edges of the manuscript curled. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. The poet's appearance altogether was highly prepossessing. Then came the cable that you were in Canton, ill, but not dangerously so. Once a thriving town before the Pestilence, most of the buildings and the piers had been destroyed or burned. ‘Perhaps she don’t understand English,’ suggested Roding.
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