Drummond smoked his cigarette meditatively. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. She had trouble outwitting him as he seemed to predict her words before he said them. . Certain it was, that the slightest sound aroused him. But I dare not accept it.
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