"Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. " "Let me touch you, then; let me feel if you are really flesh and blood," cried the poor maniac, creeping towards him on all fours. " "You'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed Jonathan, in a menacing tone. ’ ‘Oh, you are, are you?’ said the nun, evidently not mollified, but she was forestalled.
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