Silk. The old man was conducted to Jack's cell by the turnkey, who remained near him during their interview. She closed the book that she had been pretending to read and gathered her black umbrella and her backpack, a childish accoutrement she despised. Do you expect me, I wonder. He made Hong-Kong at dusk: wet, hungry, and a bit groggy for the want of sleep; but he was in no wise discouraged. She had a horrible glimpse of the once nice little old lady being also borne stationward, still faintly battling and very muddy—one lock of grayish hair straggling over her neck, her face scared, white, but triumphant.
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