There was a second co-respondent. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. ‘You don’t mean to say she’s here?’ ‘Was,’ Gerald corrected. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. That handsome, finely drawn face belonged to a soul with clean ideals.
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