I—I hurt myself. He gripped the window-sill behind him. She looked away. Brendon looked across the room at her thoughtfully. Lucy was silent. “I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. Mirrors. There was scant social life on the Sha-mien aside from masculine foregatherings, little that interested him. Balanced on his nose were enormous tortoise-shell spectacles.
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