‘Madwoman,’ he screamed back, as he climbed over the next pew, eyes darting down briefly to check for his sword. The clouds were nearly black with rain, threatening to spill sleet in daggers and torrents. One of his chair coolies had witnessed the transportation of Spurlock by stretcher to the sampan in the canal. Stanley, whose family had been by any reckoning inconsiderable—to use the kindliest term. For a moment she too had started and faltered in her exit from the room.
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