“You could have a talk to Miss Kitty Brett this afternoon, if you liked. ” “Fine. In fiction you make the Chinese secretive, criminal, and terrible—or comic. I'll bet you've been in Hong-Kong these two weeks already, and never a line to me. "Your son," answered the boy. Ann Veronica felt suddenly an effect of tremendous pathos; she would have given anything to have been able to frame and make some appeal, some utterance that should bridge this bottomless chasm that had opened between her and her father, and she could find nothing whatever to say that was in the least sincere and appealing. “Idiots!” she said, when she heard this pandemonium, and with particular reference to this young lady with the throaty contralto next door. He would have to go on; he would be forced to enact all the obligations he had imposed upon himself. “It isn’t a joke,” she said.
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