The Ragged Edge by Harold MacGrath
page 29 of 300 (09%)
page 29 of 300 (09%)
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Arabic numerals. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-mien
night to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither and yon like June fireflies in a meadow. Meantime the spinsters sought the dining room where tea was being served. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. "I'll admit that. But I don't understand her; she's over my head. She leaves me almost without comparisons. She is like some character out of Phra the Phoenician: she's been buried for thirty years and just been excavated. That's the way she strikes me. And it's uncanny." "But I never saw anybody more alive." "Who wouldn't be lively after thirty years' sleep? Did you hear her explain about beachcombers? And yet she looks at one with the straightest glance I ever saw. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept my invitation to join us. I shouldn't care to have attention constantly drawn to us. This world over here! Everything's upside-down or back-end-to. Humph!" "What's the matter?" "Sh!" Spurlock passed by on the way to the bar. Apparently he did not see his recent companions. There was a strained, eager expression on |
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