"Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. elizabethbailey.
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