. The silence of Canton at night was sinister, for none could prophesy what form of mob might suddenly boil out. “I shall come back, if at all, a new man. He turned the wheel carefully as he touched her neck with the other, threading her soft curls in between his slim fingers. Taken altogether, his physiognomy resembled one of those vagabond heads which Murillo delighted to paint, and for which Guzman d'Alfarache, Lazarillo de Tormes, or Estevanillo Gonzalez might have sat:—faces that almost make one in love with roguery, they seem so full of vivacity and enjoyment.
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