He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. “And yet you still live, Butterfly. ‘Ah, non,’ exclaimed the husband. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad. And then if some day Capes wanted her—saw fit to alter his views upon friendship. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind.
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