Her head felt absurdly like one of those noddling manikins in the Hong-Kong curio-shops. I always say that it’s poverty before everything that makes a girl skip the line. To even presume a lustful thought about her was to ask for one’s own death. Let alone a girl. She leaped to a world of shabby knowledge, of furtive base realizations. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. The waterman sheltered his mouth with his hand while he spoke, or his voice would have been carried away by the violence of the blast. Jove, he didn’t take to it kindly, I can tell you. Wood and several serving-men, all well armed, rushed into the room. And in those days, too, he used to help her mother with her gardening, and hover about her while she stood on the ladder and hammered creepers to the scullery wall.
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