Having secured this implement, he burst from his conductor, and, leaping into the hatch, as clowns generally spring into the clockfaces, when in pursuit of harlequin in the pantomime,—that is, back foremost,— broke into a fit of loud and derisive laughter, kicking his heels merrily all the time against the boards. . . “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. He became primitive, literal in his conception; the ramifications were, for the nonce, fairly relegated to limbo. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted.
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