’ Roding blinked. Miss Stanley, it was manifest, had given him Ann Veronica’s address. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. “It is not that. ” Sir John coughed. She knew she was a monster and so did they. ‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. I can't pump out all there is to these compositions. I might as well be at Morningside Park.
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