‘You can’t go to England. "Why, hello, Ah Cum! What's the trouble?" Ah Cum took his hands from his sleeves. His head was small and bullet-shaped, and he did not wear a wig, but had his sleek black hair cut off closely round his temples. “Anna,” he cried eagerly. In the twilight he had ceased to be a person one could tackle and shame; he had become something more general, a something that crawled and sneaked toward her and would not let her alone.
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