Through one doorway she saw a grave Chinaman standing on a stage-like platform. He seemed to deliberate. What had urged her to wrench loose and fly was the guarding instinct of the good woman. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. The doctor's smile is singular; there is no other smile that reaches the same level. He left that arid rule clear of the least mist of refinement or delicacy. Leastways, not on your own. Sheppard.
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