“Michelle, I think that you are the victim of an extremely overactive imagination. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. It was Annabel who caught at the paper. . ’ Gerald reached out and took her hand, enclosing it between both his own. But seriously, things are not so bad as you think. . The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. It was a gorgeous May evening, the air redolent with the soapy purple scents of hyacinth and lilac. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent.
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