The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards. Her heartbeat quickened. 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. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts. He’s nice. You'll do. How dare you use my name and sing my songs?” Anna looked at her sister in blank amazement.
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