She could see over a waist high stone wall into the miniature courtyard, complete with benches only a small child could sit upon, one which had been broken in half, its two pieces left unjoined on the sandy ground. "Jack Sheppard's face is well worth preserving. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Every inch of the house felt safe to her, small and welcoming. The Chinamen raised the limp body and carried it to the hall staircase, up which they mounted laboriously. And as she was yet waiting for her tea to come she saw this man again. You do not need my compliments.
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