Then the hotel manager struck his palms together sharply, and two Chinese "boys" came pattering in from the dining room. The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. She wished he could smoke and dull his nerves a little. “Yes,” she answered, looking away. She never expected to get her ladyship home alive. He seemed to stay away from her because she was so cold and formal towards him, addressing him as Mister McCloskey as if she were an Irish maid. Anything in the least irregular is like poison to him. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances. . I have yet another.
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