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. “Confound sex from first to last!” said Ann Veronica. “We are not the sort that goes under,” said Ann Veronica, holding her hands so that the red reflections vanished from her eyes. Never! Perhaps some day, quite soon, she might regret that breakfast-room. In a few seconds, the shutter flew open,—then the window,—and they were in the room.
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