Her white shirt was ridiculously utilitarian, but fitted in all the right places, he smirked. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. Her mind wandered back to that fateful day. " "Why didn't you head him off, explain that it couldn't be done by a white man?" Ah Cum shrugged.
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