I must apologize for my young puppy of a clerk. Her mother had prepared her for everything. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily. Eyebrows knitting, she looked towards the ground a few feet away from him, guiltily. “I believe you are quite right so far as regards the present, at any rate,” someone remarked, from the depths of an easy chair. 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.
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