The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. Her face reminded him of a delicate unglazed porcelain cup, filled with blond wine. ‘Ha! Just the person I want. “DON’T!” she said, and wrenched her wrist from his retaining hand. ‘Even the nuns they say I am like a devil. And the Duke, too—I heard him say that a married secretary would be worse than useless to him. He, for his part, was trying to grasp the series of unexpected reactions that had so wrecked their tete-a-tete.
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