” “One may do both,” said Ann Veronica. “It is not that. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. For four hours he had shifted his own troubles to the shoulders of these imaginative characters. So, while she watched, distressed and bewildered by her tumbling thoughts, the packet, Canton bound, ruffled the placid waters of the Pearl River. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise. “You are late,” she murmured. He's nice. His mind seemed to be a remarkably full one; his knowledge of detailed reality came in just where her own mind was most weakly equipped. He caught the smirk. If ever she felt fatigue in these long tramps which had already taken her half over London, she never admitted it.
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