Ann Veronica wondered what her father would do if she were to tell him the full story of her relations with Ramage. Goopes down on him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any deception in the former. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. “You are not going out—this evening, I trust,” that lady asked, a trifle dismayed. I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. She parted the curtains to find him standing there. He embraced her like her father once had. But one changes the style of one's clothes yearly.
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