” “There’s art,” said Ann Veronica, “and writing. “It is like old times,” she said, “to hear these home truths. A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. He did not want Ruth to see his own stricken countenance; nor did he care to see hers, ravaged by tears. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. “In that laboratory one gets to disregard these passions,” began Capes.
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