She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. Thanks. Her father, her own father! She remembered now a verse from the Psalms her father had always been quoting; but now she recited it with perfect understanding. “Do you need me to tell you? You have tasted the luxury of power. Doesn’t matter a bit to me. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. It wasn’t.
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