“It’s the warming up of the year, the coming of the light mornings, the way in which everything begins to run about and begin new things. “Are we cool?” Michelle asked her. The three clerks fought for the only window, and saw her whisked into a hansom. It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. “Thank you, Martin,” she replied graciously.
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