Her depression since the “accident” had possessed her, she no longer cared how she looked as her beauty helped her not. It’s just to feel—one owns one’s self. I’ve always had a sneaking desire for the writing-trade. 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. Taber returning. She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room.
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