“I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. God only knows what I have done, or left undone. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. “I am getting plain,” she said, with a little shudder. “It’s Ennison, isn’t it?” he exclaimed.
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