On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. "Who, then?" demanded Jack. “We are only in the dawn of the Age of Friendship,” he said, “when interest, I suppose, will take the place of passions. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. White told me where to find you.
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