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"It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. "Drink this, then," roared Blueskin. She heard the rats scattering across the stone as dirt fell into the crypt. We were going at a mad pace. Yet, here she was, in the ancient Chinese city, weaving in and out of the narrow streets some scarcely wide enough for two men to walk abreast, streets that boiled and eddied with yellow human beings, who worshipped strange gods, ate strange foods, and diffused strange suffocating smells.
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