It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. “The conventions do not matter one little bit. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair. She gathered her black purse, a pointless thing made of cardboard covered in sateen and bejeweled with an assortment of rhinestones. There were groves of cultivated guava, orange, lemon, and pomegranate. " CHAPTER V.
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