Not like my father. Capes scored back with an uncompromising vigor that was his way of complimenting her intelligence. The day had become suddenly overcast. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. A tourist caravan of four pole-chairs jogged along a narrow street. Les Misérables, A Tale of Two Cities, Henry Esmond, The Last Days of Pompeii, The Marble Faun … Love stories! Until her arrival in Singapore, she had never read a novel.
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