“Lucy, I have to talk to you. The houses they flitted to and from were glutted with hangers-on, servant/mistresses, and errant prostitutes. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. I was the last on board. How she had fought her eagerness in the beginning, lest it reveal her ignorance of the marvels of mankind! The terror and ecstasy of that night in Singapore— the first city she had ever seen! There was still the impression that something akin to a miracle had piloted her successfully from one ordeal to another. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation.
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