CHAPTER XV. The ticket line filtered slowly into the glass doors, growing louder and more boisterous by the minute. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks. If you like books and music, we'll get along. ” He was intrigued. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. ” He paced the room for a minute or two restlessly.
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