The first circumstance that struck her on her arrival seemed ominous. “Thanks, I’m not very fond of coffee,” Anna answered, “and I hate music. Hanging on the wall was a temple censer, bronze, moulded in the shape of a lotus blossom with stem and leaves—deadly as a club. She went on her way now no longer dreaming and appreciative, but disturbed and unwillingly observant behind her mask of serene contentment. Spurlock offered his hand, which Ah Cum accepted gravely. While he was thus employed, his nerves underwent a severe shock. One realized indeed then where the differences lay; the tender curves about Anna’s mouth transformed into hard sharp lines in Annabel’s, the eyes of one, truthful and frank, the other’s more beautiful but with less expression—windows lit with dazzling light, but through which one saw—nothing. How old are you?’ ‘I have nineteen years, and it is quite unimportant.
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