The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. She attacked me with a carving-knife, and, when I had disarmed her, the jade bit off a couple of fingers from my left hand. Small blame to her. We pretend we never think of everything that makes us what we are.
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