The Becks were the best foster family that she had ever had. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. “Sure, I guess so. " He then closed the lantern, mounted without much difficulty upon the roof, and proceeded cautiously along the tiles. “I suppose, daddy, you’ve no objection to my going on with my work at the Imperial College?” she asked.
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