“That’s suicidal bullshit, Lucy. Don’t you care for Nigel at all?” Anna was silent for a moment or two. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. I'll try to think better of him in future.
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