His fingers slipped under the collar of her linen shift and he tore it open with a swipe. She foraged about in her mind for some satisfying equivalent which would express in English this gurgling drone the Chinese called a language. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think.
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