In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. He was wearing a new silk hat, with a slightly more generous brim than its predecessor, and it suited his type of face, robbed his dark eyes a little of their aggressiveness and gave him a solid and dignified and benevolent air. She had mentioned the address where she and her sister had lived. Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. He uttered a short laugh. Sheppard, passing her hand across her brow; "but my memory is gone—quite gone.
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