He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. The rest were hieroglyphic characters, executed in red chalk and charcoal. He heard the struggle on the landing, the fall of the heavy body, the groan,—and excited almost to frenzy by his fears, he succeeded in forcing open the door. It added to the picturesqueness of the Sha-mien night to observe these gaily coloured lanterns dancing hither and yon like June fireflies in a meadow. She makes me feel terribly old-fashioned. Why did I not realise it at once? It just shows how one should not judge by appearances.
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