. ’ ‘What? But—’ ‘Precisely, Hilary. She fixed her brilliant eyes upon him. “Yeah. Some Chinaman might take it into his head to shout: "Death to the foreign devils!" And out of that wall yonder would boil battle and murder and sudden death. She silently willed him to stop his pacing, to calm down. He had conveyed it to her, not verbally, but by means of a letter, which seemed to her a singularly ignoble method of prohibition. His arm entered the round window of the white haze of her vision, his wrist spouting blood in currents, dripping on the stone floor.
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