He would have to return to Hong-Kong; and his trail would be picked up the moment he set foot on the Praya. Wood!" "Leave go!" thundered Blueskin—"leave go—you'd better!"—and he held the sack as firmly as he could with one hand, while with the other he searched for his knife. What with these converging roofs that shut out all but a hand's breadth of the sky, sunshine was rare at this point.
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