A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. The same pale white buttocks, the same freckles in the same unchanging patterns on her collarbone that all of her mother’s potions had never been able to erase. " "Ship her back to her father"—sagely. "Give me the child, or—" As he spoke the door was thrown open, and Mrs. White looked mysteriously about the room as though to be sure that no one was listening. ’ His features relaxed again and he grinned. There followed a silence which endured several minutes; or, rather a tableau. Anna followed her finger, and looked back into her sister’s face. On a stool eight feet high sat a small boy in a faded blue cotton, his face like that of young Buddha. Mr. He stopped abruptly before the apparently incurious Chinaman.
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