In his muscular pudgy hand was a photograph, frayed at the corners, soiled from the contact of many hands: the portrait of a youth of eighteen. He was a tall man and fair, with bluish eyes that were rather protuberant, and long white hands of which he made a display. It did not occur to her that save for some accidents of education and character they had souls like her own. Time after time he sent Spurlock into this corner or that; but always the boy regained his feet before the murderous boot could reach the mark. Take me with you. He drifted in and out of consciousness. "Well, what can you expect, guzzling poison like that? Are you returning with us to Hong-Kong in the morning?" "No.
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