It was as though he were personally aggrieved. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. That world of fine printed cambrics and escorted maidens, of delicate secondary meanings and refined allusiveness, presented itself to her imagination with the brightness of a lost paradise, as indeed for many women it is a lost paradise. Voilà tout. Once she had asked him: "Are you my father?" He had answered: "I am.
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