That was one of the mysterious qualities of this child of the lagoon: she had always at instant service that Oriental mask of impenetrable calm that no Occidental trick could dislodge. He conveyed not only his sense of the extreme want of correctitude in their unsanctioned meetings, but also that, so far as he was concerned, this irregularity mattered not at all, that he had flung—and kept on flinging—such considerations to the wind. He pretended to be unaware of the mishap. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, The Last Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun … Love stories! Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel. . “Beats me. There were seven tales in all—short stories—a method of expression quite strange to her, after the immense canvases of Dickens and Hugo. ” He shook her diminutive hand.
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