Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. Behind her stood Caliban, chuckling to himself, and grinning from ear to ear. Capes looked at one and not over one, spoke to one, treated one as a visible concrete fact. “But what are you going to do?” asked Hetty. "They tell me over here that the average Chinaman is honest.
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