I begin to understand Jane Austen and chintz covers and decency and refinement and all the rest of it. “These clothes are French, and I’m sure this floppy bow would make a Frenchman of me anyhow. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. Jonathan shook his head. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected.
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