The nurse sent for him as soon as she saw that you were conscious. He had shaved his side-whiskers and come over in flannels, but he was still indisputably the same person who had attended Ann Veronica for the measles and when she swallowed the fish-bone. Aside from some loose coin and a trunk key, there was nothing in the pockets: no mail, no letter of credit, not even a tailor's label. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. Inexplicably there flashed into vision the Chinese wedding procession in the narrow, twisted streets of the city, that first day: the gorgeous palanquin, the tomtoms, the weird music, the ribald, jeering mob that trailed along behind. “Now,” he said, “no one can blunder in upon us. . . Every moment. ‘It’s my belief she is a nun. And she seemed always to keep one eye on Ann Veronica’s dress.
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