“I’m just off, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. He knocked on the doorframe. This person, whose age might be about forty, was attired in a brown double-breasted frieze coat, with very wide skirts, and a very narrow collar; a light drugget waistcoat, with pockets reaching to the knees; black plush breeches; grey worsted hose; and shoes with round toes, wooden heels, and high quarters, fastened by small silver buckles. Canton at night is as much China as the border town of Lan-Chow-fu. The doctor nodded. “Bother it all!” she swore. She didn’t trust Gianfrancesco, you know, she called him a ‘bad husband’. Thank goodness you’ll understand. She was writhing to get her hands loose and found herself gasping with passionate violence, “It’s damnable!—damnable!” to the manifest disgust of the fatherly policeman on her right.
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