Her head had been shaved, and around it was swathed a piece of rag, in which a few straws were stuck. ’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but her manner was a degree less warm. Why didn’t I die? Why does God hate me so? Why does He not want me? I didn’t die because I’m weak, because I am cursed! I hate this poisoned world! But most of all. Her greatest exploit was the howling before the mid-day meal. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. There was a loose button on that coat, and I want to sew it on. “All right?” asked the man with the light eyelashes, suddenly appearing in the doorway.
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