His fingers cherished the hilt of his sword and his eyes were on his friend and superior, ready at his back to do whatever was needed. Loving was self-forgetfulness, pure delighting in another human being. No one. The acid of this incertitude had disintegrated his nerve; and in Canton had come the smash. His face was half hidden under a freshly pipeclayed sola topee—sun-helmet. Wood and Thames taking their places on either side of it, and Jack at a little distance behind.
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