Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. The material cares of life hang about your neck like a millstone. 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. Silk. But escape to where? She thought of the ships that sailed from the peninsulas to hot deserts where spices were traded. . The angels in Heaven shall not tear you from me.
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