Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites. He looked at his friend. He moved to one side, bowing and gesturing to the door. It came again. “Lucy! Where is my daughter? Where have you. The latter looked very pale, either from the effect of his wound, which was not yet entirely healed, or from suppressed emotion,—partly, perhaps, from both causes,—and wore his left arm in a sling.
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