No Cantonese was in those days permitted to cross to the Sha-mien after sunset without a license. . ‘Read that,’ and threw the telegram at me, so that it went into the tureen. She could visualize the picture she had presented, particularly the battered papier-mâché kitbag at her feet. The Widgetts talked with a remarkable absence of external coverings; the Palsworthys found all the meanings of life on its surfaces. “It’s odd,” said Ann Veronica, re-entering the flat. She hated it, she hated the mission-house; she hated the sleek lagoon, the palms, the burning sky.
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