Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. Presently he heard her voice. Ramage tethered the horse to the farther gate-post, and Caesar blew heavily and began to investigate the hedge. Here was a little corner of the past—a tragic corner. “You are too good for me,” she said in a low voice. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. “I must live, you know.
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