Raymond Plote would only be missed by his mother. The terrific mental tension of the past few months —that had held his bodily nourishment in a kind of strangulation—became as a dream; and now his vitals responded rapidly to food and air. She was like an angel with one wing. But I shan't let him off thus. "I will, when I catch him, rely on it," rejoined Wild. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find. And how much I owe you, too, dearest Winifred, for your kindness and attention.
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