It hung from the centre of a stout pole, each end of which rested upon the calloused shoulder of a coolie; an ordinary Occidental chair with a foot-rest. Yet through these talks, these meetings and conferences, these movements and efforts, Ann Veronica, for all that she went with her friend, and at times applauded with her enthusiastically, yet went nevertheless with eyes that grew more and more puzzled, and fine eyebrows more and more disposed to knit. “Yeah,” Shari nodded enthusiastically. Lightheaded, she threw up in the courtyard of the Palazzo as servants crowded her in alarm. A girl—at my age—is grown-up.
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