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. It was his heart. I’ve called half a dozen times at her flat, and she won’t see me. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting.
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