“And think, think”—her voice sank —“of the horrible coarseness!” “What coarseness?” said Ann Veronica. ‘Jacques? Oh, that is news of the very finest. She dared not look directly at him, her head obscured by a gray hoodie, she had the slumped appearance of an androgynous adolescent. ” He faced her doggedly. There was a trader—a man who bought copra and pearls. You’re never going to believe this, by the way. Hartford, Connecticut; she had registered that address; but there was something so mystifyingly Oriental about her that the address only thickened the haze behind which she moved. He was—a millionaire. I didn’t! I didn’t! After all—” For a time her mind ran on daintiness and its defensive restraints as though it was the one desirable thing. There was no past, no future, only this exhilarating present.
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