Each one had been different from the others, each had had a quality all its own, a distinctive freshness, a distinctive beauty. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. “We have to get in, I think,” said a nice little old lady in a bonnet to Ann Veronica, speaking with a voice that quavered a little. ‘You do not use your head, Emile,’ she said flatly.
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