The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. "Come, come, Jack," said Thames, walking up to Sheppard, and taking his hand, "have done with this. Diane spooned warm apple-rhubarb pie onto the girl’s plates, topping each with scoops of ice cream. " Ruth repeated the word, not in the effect of a query, but ruminantly.
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