" The Wastrel rushed. It dropped sideways and fell with a bang to the table. The thought made her exquisitely happy. The sky was cloudless, effulgent blue. ‘You have rifled his papers. " The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations.
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