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It had been Ann Veronica’s lot as the youngest child to live in a home that became less animated and various as she grew up. ’ A laugh escaped her. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. I consented. "The gentleman under the table," she answered. And the less “anything” happened the better. She shattered the edifice he was building up of himself as a devoted lover, waiting only his chance to win her from a hopeless and consuming passion.
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