Gerald noted the lady’s eyes brighten as she caught sight of him making his way through the throng towards her. I saw him lying on the footway. She produced a handkerchief, and with one sweep of this and a simultaneous gulp had abolished her fit of weeping. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. After several vain attempts to burst it open, he resolved, as a last alternative, to break through the wall in the part nearest to the lock. She had a bittersweet fragrance, like dusty books and honeysuckle.
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