Mr. To Gerald’s eye, the refugees therefore presented a rather forlorn little group, almost huddling together and chattering in low tones in their own tongue. "How shall I get to you?" "My yacht is in the river. She was leaning over him and he smelled her like he had never smelled anyone before. One morning, as he took his stand on the Hong-Kong packet dock to ambush the possible tourist, he witnessed the arrival of a tubby schooner, dirty gray and blotched as though she had run through fire. A crowd was collected round the fellow, who was rapidly disposing of his stock.
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