It was always jabbing him with white-hot barbs, waking or sleeping. “You are a miracle! God spares few from the Pestilence. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. This was his sister, evidently in the last extremity. "Ah! Terry O'Flaherty!" vociferated Jonathan, in a tone that betrayed hot the slightest discomposure.
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