“You have the temperament,” he said. It loves to sit on your knee. She had imagined that prisons were white-tiled places, reeking of lime-wash and immaculately sanitary. Canton was something like a blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. “We are, or rather we were, so much alike then that the portrait of either of us would have done for the other.
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