He was, however, instantly beaten back; and the fury of the mob was so great that it was with difficulty he could effect a retreat. Superstition is the Chinese Reaper. “Election be hanged!” he exclaimed. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. The more her thoughts dwelt upon the subject, the more convinced she was that she could not go to any one for help; she would have to solve the riddle by her own efforts, by some future experience.
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