She looked at the white ankle socks on her feet and was reminded simultaneously of her pajama outfit and the suitcase that still lay underneath the bed. Gay, was a stout, good-looking, good-humoured man, about thirty-six, with a dark complexion, an oval face, fine black eyes, full of fire and sensibility, and twinkling with roguish humour—an expression fully borne out by the mouth, which had a very shrewd and sarcastic curl. She guarded her mother, or at least she had liked to think so. In Singapore that had been her only dissipation: a dozen pairs of silk stockings. She wanted to go to Cornell University to study Anthropology, that was her 183 dream.
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