And one must—some of it must slip through one’s fingers. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. It was a different world. He was the social order; he was law and wisdom. 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. .
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