‘Do you know, Mademoiselle Charvill, you are a thought too clever for your own good. The girl in the forward chair raised herself a little, the better to see the gorgeous blue palanquin of the dimly visible bride. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Their doors stood open, and placards with big letters indicated the section assigned to each. But she was disturbed, mysteriously disturbed. I'd like to be alone now. "I am twenty," said the girl.
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