She knew, too, she must not hesitate. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. “You have them both,” Anna answered. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. Listen, it is I. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. There was only one clean spot in the picture—the ship's wash (all white) that fluttered on a line stretched between the two masts.
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