‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. She waited expectantly. Wood, would preclude the possibility of his remaining with his new friends as long as his inclinations prompted. Opposite the gallows was an open gallery, or scaffolding, like the stand at a racecourse, which, on state occasions, was crowded with spectators. She admired his backside as he fetched a blue towel from his bathroom. Hogarth, and Mr. Wanton!… This, then, was what her father had meant. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind.
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