\" Mark was tall and skinny, a mop of brown hair over a pillar of freckles. She meant to go, she meant to go, she meant to go. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River.
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