“I promise, Lucy. "Safe inside," replied the chairman, wiping the heat from his brow; "we've run all the way. You left Hong-Kong at night, by way of the Pearl River, and arrived in Canton the next morning. He seemed so clean anyway, his fair 215 skin, his light brown hair, there almost seemed to be no point. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music.
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