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. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. I too can see it. I'd like to shake you until your bones rattled; but the bones of a Roundhead wouldn't rattle to any purpose. "We're all damaged—we've all got broken pates," cried a dozen voices.
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