In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. It was still so dark, that nothing could be distinguished except the heavy masses of timber by which the premises were surrounded; but as they advanced, lights were visible in some of the windows. "Well, I will see him," replied the knight, after a moment's pause; "he may be from the Earl of Mar. And afterwards! Sir John drew his cigar from his lips, and looked upwards where the white-lights flashed strangely amongst the deep cool green of the lime-trees. Who invented them? Nobody knows.
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