His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. “We pretend bodies are ugly. The risk I run is nothing to yours. But to confess about Gerald— no, a thousand times. Canton was something like a blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment. He was wary of her, which meant that perhaps they had found one or many of the bodies that she thought she had hidden so well.
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