"Shall I take the babby home with me!" persisted Wood, in a tone between jest and earnest. Vorsack rose from the table and departed for the bathroom, mumbling something about a Tylenol. He was always word-building, a metaphorist, lavish with singing adjectives; but often he built in confusion because it was difficult to describe something beautiful in a new yet simple way. White rang the bell. The sunshine broke across each shoulder, one lance striking the yellow face of a Chinaman, queueless and dressed in European clothes, the other lance falling squarely upon the face of the man he had journeyed thirteen thousand miles to find.
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