She noted the dank hair on his forehead, the sweat of revolting nature. “Do you play an instrument?” “I play the fiddle sometimes. This amazing world she had set forth to discover! Yesterday at this time she had had no thought in her head about Canton. An uncomfortable silence followed. A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. It was the same smell that she had in his memory, but now it was definite, palpable, like a perfume.
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