The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. So he sharpened a score of pencils, and after fiddling about and rewriting the last page he had written the previous night, he plunged into work. She almost laughed, but repressed her smile lest it seem cruel. She had learned this art in skirts, and knew well how not to be disadvantaged. “Close your eyes. She wedged the towel between her legs. His tone changed, becoming a little more moderate.
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