That was supposed to be Madame Valade. I had never dreamed of such a friend as you. I was always told my mother died the day I was born. I was not even sure whether it was loaded. Wherein she differed but little from her young sisters. To reach the Sha-mien—and particularly the Hotel Victoria—one crossed a narrow canal, always choked with rocking sampans over and about which swarmed yellow men and women and children in varied shades of faded blue cotton. There was nothing on her face to hint of the misery that brimmed her heart this morning.
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