She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. A white man, wandering about the streets of Canton at night, was a challenge to such a catastrophe. Her features were meagre, and ghastly white, and had the fixed and horrible stamp of insanity. " "Forgive you!" echoed his mother, with a look radiant with delight. ” “But Italy—” “Italy’s for a good girl,” he said, and laid his hand for a moment on her shoulder.
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