“Tell him to drive—anywhere,” she exclaimed. On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. She had looked up from her seat at the small round table in the centre of the parlour which, together with the wooden armchairs beside the small fireplace, and a sideboard next the single casement, was all the furniture the place afforded. Their colorful displays seemed to repel the dreariness of the sky as each group savored its long awaited moment, its weekend arrival in front of the opposite sex. I didn’t understand. But here it is China.
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