His letter of credit; probably that was it; and, observing the strangeness of the room he was in, his first concern on returning to consciousness would naturally relate to his letter of credit. As if he read her thought, he spoke it aloud. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom. Oh, it is unbearable. But it sounds too real to be imagined. The Oriental accepts my medicines kowtowing, and when my back is turned, chucks the stuff out of the window and burns joss-sticks. This spike is more than half cut through. “I hate you because you are the Devil! Rot in Hell!” She was shocked at her own accusation, how she had savored the words. Fretting and fidgeting, he had, after an hour or so, turned to McClintock. net/1/5/6/1/15614/ Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Clare Elliott and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
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