It developed into a sort of secret and private bad manners. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. Suddenly she felt her wrist grasped by a strong hand. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. " Winifred looked as if she could not indulge such a supposition for a single moment.
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