He looked just like John Wayne in a cowboy movie, his eyes narrow and squinting, except his hair was long, unruly, and jet black. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. He stopped abruptly before the apparently incurious Chinaman. '" "What is that?" she asked. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. " "Impossible, dear Mrs.
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