“Dear husband,” she murmured. Trodger was lying in wait at the bottom of the narrow stairs. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. The third time she escaped she reached the inconsequent barricade of the overturned table. ’ Roding allowed that he had a point, and followed him as he began to mount the stairs. "What has delayed you?" demanded the knight impatiently. The houses were older, the shops gloomier, and the thoroughfare narrower, it is true; but the bustle, the crowd, the street-like air was the same. And it is not at all his affair. He dared not go on.
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