One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. ‘Lord, no! I’ve a better regard for my skin, I thank you. She is not in the least like the descriptions of her. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed.
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