He was afraid if he stayed that he would make a fool of himself. Certainly, we—that is Jarvis and I— knew nothing of it until after Mary’s death. It is a lovely little appendage to the mother who smiles over it, and it does things quaintly like her, gestures with her very gestures. It was rude and disrespectful to raise her eyes to him, her mother had warned. It was so hopeless to put it to them. Anna stood looking down upon her sister with grave perturbed face. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. I saw the blood come as he rolled over.
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