"In Canton. "Remember!" cried Quilt, as he forced the captive along. It was an intimate smell, the unmistakable scent of him and another woman. She marvelled at his apparent imperviousness to the heat. A little darling? Lord in heaven, he had taken leave of his senses. We can’t. She felt a lump rise in her throat, for she had come to love living in America. He tore it down just as the Wastrel rose, wavering slightly. She hadn't measured up; she had been stupid; she hadn't known how to make love. His face turned a dark crimson.
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