“You’re Glorious!” said Miss Miniver in tones of rapture, holding a hand in each of hers and peering up into Ann Veronica’s face. Gone were the old days where an old maid banged on an upright piano above a roaring crowd, this sound was loud enough to be heard outside the building, she thought to herself as her eardrums throbbed. At sunset the swarming abruptly ceased; even the sampans appeared to draw closer together, with the quiet of water-fowl. At last—I told a story.
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