“Remember,” he said, “you are not by any means a dying man now, but you’ll never pull through if you don’t husband your strength. There’s no logic in these things. Like the flaws of an old marble. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find.
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