She backed away, amazed as the thing buzzed loudly in the center of the room. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. “It is hateful—diabolical!” he exclaimed. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. Her glance, absorbing the gilt letters and their significance, communicated to her poised body a species of paralysis. These women could not be bad, else the hotel would not have permitted them to enter! Still, the scene presented a riddle: to give immunity to the black women who went about all but naked and to damn the white for exposing their shoulders! She had eaten but little; all her hunger had been in her eyes—and in her heart.
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This video was uploaded to waterscolumns.info on 27-09-2024 01:33:04