She followed Oxford Street into Holborn, and then she inquired for Chancery Lane. Pole coolies came joggling along with bobbing blocks of jade—white jade, splashed and veined with translucent emerald green. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she threw at him, her brief attack of sobs already ended, although the trace of tears on her cheeks bore witness to its sincerity. My birthday was on May first. The decision had been sound.
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