The freezing water lapped around her ankles as she ran along its edge, marveling at the thousands of tiny white spiral shells the tide had brought in. The doll she had never owned, the cat and the dog that had never been hers: here they were, strangely incorporated in this sleeping man. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. There were moments when Ann Veronica rather more than suspected the chief speakers to be, as school-boys say, showing off at her. She romanticized, imagining a life on the High Seas. I'm thinking that the Wastrel was one day a celebrated professional; and the women were partly the cause of his fall.
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