The smile had become a laugh. It was your sister who married Sir John Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t it?” Anna nodded. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it. As he looked around, he beheld an incessant stream of passengers hurrying on below. “It’s magnificent!” He leaned back and regarded her with his head a little on one side. ‘Who have lately joined us,’ she said, adding sotto voce, ‘A very great tragedy. We have seen great and sober-minded men come to this unholy city, and become degenerates. Said Prudence, with commendable human kindness: "My sister and I are going on to Shanghai and Peking. Hey.
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