“Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud. Who is she, I say?” “My sister!” Annabel faltered. 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. She did not hear his approach, but continued her occupation without raising her head. She swallowed hard. She lay still for a long time, and her mind resumed at a more tolerable pace. It is dull—deadly dull. ” She laughed softly to herself. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress. “Here, dis is for you. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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