“How old are you?” “Sixteen. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. I hated him. Where I am in error, you can set me right. It was a spring-tide at half ebb; and the current, which was running fast and furiously, bore him instantly away.
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