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A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. F. “You found the cabochon? After all these years?” He asked, incredulous. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone.
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