I'll have a peep at him, if I die for it," she muttered, as she went out. “No. She told you —the truth. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. He made it brief. These joyful bounds just lace into the stuff of my memories and stay there forever.
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