"Do not endanger yourself on my account," rejoined his mother. "Well, what can you expect, guzzling poison like that? Are you returning with us to Hong-Kong in the morning?" "No. That—that isn’t living! You are beside yourself. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience. She had underestimated his animal ability to sense weakness. She had omitted that the flu had been called the Black Death and that it was a dead child that had been inside that womb, so many hundreds of years ago. The little pucker in her brows became more perceptible. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. Under his arm he carried a thick, knotted crab-stick.
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