Ann Veronica, with a sigh at the cost of hospitality, made a hasty negotiation for an extra tea and for a fire in the groundfloor apartment, and preened herself carefully for the interview. The lips were straight and pale, the chin aggressive, the nose indomitable. "Where am I?" she cried, passing her hand across her brow. "I have proofs to the contrary," replied Kneebone. At a sign from Ah Cum, official custodian of the sightseers, the polechair coolies pressed toward the left and halted. She heard them diving after her, and noted their starting eyes as they spied the opened panel.
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