"My horse is at the door, saddled, with pistols in the holsters,—mount him and fly. It was something that Sebastian had refused to do, a lifestyle that he placed himself above. “I knew that you waited at the farmhouse. “Martin Chen!” Michelle shouted his name in an outburst, like an invocation. "You hay'n't hurt your arm, I trust, my dear?" he added, anxiously. " The air in the narrow street, which was not eight feet wide, swarmed with smells impossible to define; but all at once the pleasantly pungent odour of Chinese incense drifted across the girl's face, and gratefully she quickened her inhalations.
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