This information was received by Jonathan with a lowering brow. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her. ‘The man’s gone,’ her old nurse told her, when she had recovered a little. She had a feeling at his departure as of an immense cavity, of something enormously gone; she could not tell whether it was infinite regret or infinite relief. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic.
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