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On a high chair behind a raised counter the stipendiary’s substitute regarded her malevolently over his glasses. She looked at him mournfully. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Everything was going to hell.
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