’ ‘Believe me, she wouldn’t have cared. " He summoned another "boy" and rumbled some Cantonese. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. “Then turn round and go back there,” she directed. ‘Precisely,’ agreed Gerald. " "Ah! Sometimes I wonder I don't run amok and kill someone," said the Wastrel, in broken English.
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