Below the window he saw two coolies carrying a coffin, which presently they callously dumped into a yawning pit. He saw himself retreating from barricade to barricade, Ruth always advancing, perfectly oblivious of the terror she inspired. ‘Well she does,’ insisted Miss Froxfield impenitently, and turned to Gerald. Whatever he did, she was bound to scream. “I am under police surveillance,” she said.
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