Canton was something like a blind alley; unless you were native, you couldn't get anywhere except by returning to Hong-Kong and starting afresh. ‘Bête,’ she flung at him. Montressor’s guests. She blushed prettily, and in a moment regained command of her tongue. The smells of skewered fennel, roast chicken, and broiled pheasant saturated the air, and she could smell other wonderful aromas about them.
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