” The detective thrust his notebook into his pocket. “I can’t believe it. “Yes. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. It drives one mad at times. Capes most trying. She could tell that he was leering at her. Later. He would never be able to figure out that: all these miles from Cuba, and you could get a perfecto for thirteen cents. But that still left the forty pounds!.
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