“Let go!” she gasped at him, a blaze of anger. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. “It’s either now or never,” she said to herself. This was his humiliation as well as hers. "Never heard of a sing-song girl; never heard of a geisha! Flower of the Lotus: the sing-song girl called her that.
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