Tell Lucy about the time you were nine years old and blew up the house, John. . He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. “Do you think you’ll ever get married, Lucy?” Lucy shifted uncomfortably as she pulled her makeshift nightgown—an old T-shirt—over her head. ‘Some ineligible that your parents would not tolerate, I suppose. The Cantonese, excepting in the shops where he expects profit, always resents the intrusion of the fan-quei—foreign devil. Gifts came from Florence: rubies and emeralds, a beautiful statue of Santa Maria for their garden grotto, a gorgeous silk tapestry of a hunting scene that alone made the price of her dowry look paltry.
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