At ninethirty he climbed into the chair and signified to Ah Cum that he was ready. He had been baptized there. “NO!” she said, at last, with something in her voice that reminded Ann Veronica of a sprung tennis-racket. It was as if Grace-church Street, with all its shops, its magazines, and ceaseless throng of passengers, were stretched from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. “You have dyed your hair and darkened your eyebrows. ‘You obstinate little devil.
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