"Not my king's," returned Wood. "He will live," answered Ruth. Sorry to be so nosy. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. "You must have made some exertion to keep your present appointment. And now, my love," she added, with a relenting look, "I'm content to make up our quarrel.
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