Vorsack sat alone at his computer in his pajamas. She was a very elegant young woman, slightly taller perhaps than her sister, and with an air of reserved strength underneath her quiet face and manner which Annabel may have lacked. Unless women are never to be free, never to be even respected, there must be a generation of martyrs. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath. Being a Chinaman in blood and instinct, he despised all spinsters; they were parasites. That dress! Only a man—and an unworldly one—would have permitted you to proceed on your adventure dressed in a gown thirty years out of date.
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