The honey on his tongue turned to ashes. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. I am sure he would go with you. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder. If he senses fear in the touch of your hand, he'll give you trouble. “I won’t have you quarrelling and crying in the Avenue,” he said. CHAPTER IV.
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