She had in her suitcase a small scrapbook, only a few pages, what little information she had gathered on him through the years. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. ‘Ah, there is the little menace itself,’ he drawled, recovering some of his own sangfroid. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. “Not only that,” he answered. CHAPTER II. " "Be pleased, then, in future not to let your surprise find vent in words," rejoined Jonathan, sternly.
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