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The commissionaire smiled. The rest. It is the horse of the priest, you understand, and—and he does not know that I have borrowed it. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells. She was practically an outcast, she had not even the ghost of a plan as to her future, and she had something less than five pounds in her pocket.

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