The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes. ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. It seemed to emanate from the back of the house. He glanced up at Roding and met his eyes.
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