At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. She put her hand in his to be squeezed. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. But that's an infirmity shared by a great many sounder heads than mine. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction.
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