You would want me to be clean, if you gave me a thought, that is. ’ ‘They? How many are there?’ ‘Oh, peste. “Where are they?” She looked around. One has to train one’s self not to. His job as a painter was wearing him down acutely as he aged. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton.
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