‘I should not dream of forcing my attentions on you. ’ A sudden thought brought a frown to her brow. He was a square-faced man of nearly fifty, with iron-gray hair a mobile, cleanshaven mouth and rather protuberant black eyes that now scrutinized Ann Veronica. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. He was a large oafish man, a man that seemed deceptively harmless, and some thought him slightly retarded.
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