“You could tell me but you’d have to kill me?” He asked with a sardonic grin on his face. " "As many as you please," replied Wood, walking towards the chimney-piece, and taking down a constable's, staff, which hung upon a nail. My reception at West Kensington you know of. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. ‘Ain’t enough as my bed is took, my sheets all bloodied, and my gin took for to waste on that fellow’s wound.
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