To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. “It’s best,” he said, “to make it a good round sum. It was noon when the caravan reached the tower of the water-clock. "There, he's as safe as Jack Sheppard in the Condemned Hould," laughed the man.
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