Framed in one of the square ports of the packet was a face which reminded Ah Cum of a Japanese theatrical mask. She loved the market, the horses trotting about, the bishops forced to be on the same road with old washer-women, the fools begging for a Florin or a ducat. Daily contact with actual human beings all the more inclined her toward the imaginative. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. However, it don't signify. This was enough for the poor widow.
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