With a swirl of her floral chintz petticoats, she placed herself in the capacious window seat, accepted the glass Gerald handed to her, and smiled mischievously up at him. " He shifted the pages together, rolled and thrust them under her arm. "I can't hold it much longer—it'll break my wrist. ’ ‘And your precious vicomte didn’t wish for the English one,’ said Charvill, acid in his voice. No; she'd never go back. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil.
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