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The Ragged Edge by Harold MacGrath
page 29 of 300 (09%)
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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