If only Gerald would come. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. It filled her with indefinable fear. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. "Arrest!" "Jigger closed!" shouted a hoarse voice in reply. The Oriental waterfronts were rank with the stuff.
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