The quarry had passed out into the open sea. What was he doing? What was he thinking? It was less than a day now, less than twenty hours. If there was a Yankee bar-keep in HongKong, James Boyle would soon locate him. By and by he ventured to peer into this window. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her.
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