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—Strype's Stow. No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. She held it away from her with an instinctive repulsion, born of her unconquerable antipathy to the touch of strangers. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. ‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly.
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