He stood back, smiling with an air of proprietorship, and looking about him at the business-like equipment of the room. Pain sliced into Gerald’s hand and his sword arm jerked. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. "Long life to the Markis, and we accept his honourable proposal," responded the mob. Nothing like the direct approach, she thought. She receded into the entryway, opening her palm and gesturing as if there were an imaginary red carpet rolled out for visitors.
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