“Hey,” he said, his eyes slowly adjusting to the soft blackness. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. This "fatal retreat for the unfortunate brave" was marked by a low wooden railing, within which stood the triple tree.
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