One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. It was one of the secret troubles of her mind, this grotesque twist her ideas would sometimes take, as though they rebelled and rioted. Entering the Lodge, the first person he beheld was Austin, who was only just up, and whose toilette appeared scarcely completed.
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