The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. “I have a letter for you, and no end of messages. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. You have misunderstood. The next moment he was by her side. " "She has suffered enough for you," said Wood. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. ‘Well, that depends.
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