Art was everywhere, underfoot in the form of mosaics, overhead in the form of architecture. Her courage and her presence of mind had alike deserted her. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. And you’re as clean as fire. Apparently he thought it very much worth while. The next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. The beautiful city that she had been awed by and even grown to love had been abandoned.
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