His tongue was more ready, his wit more keen than usual. “Hold on. "Well, well; look who's here!" cried Spurlock. Miss Stanley hesitated, and took first one and then another of the constituents of this costume off its peg and surveyed it. “He fancied that he did,” she corrected him coolly. ‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks.
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