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Show "I intend to." Evelyn sighed happily and gazedaround. She too seemed to relish the warmth, the scene, their own neat compound rising like a leafy idyl to the east. Bending forward she shaded her eyes and peered. "Is that," she asked, turning to Louise, "your maid?" "Kimiko?" It took Louise a minute to locate the house, lined up with the others on the bluff above the dockyard. "So it is. Hanging out the wash." "She's a pretty one." "She is. And sweet. We're so lucky." "Something fine about her. Almost. . . aristocratic." Evelyn laughed slightly; she was seldom happy around big words. "Hardly representative," said Phyllis drily. "Most of the Japanese. . . ." And, then, noting Evelyn's oblique gaze, she grew quiet. But Louise rushed in to cover up the gaffe. "Her father was a diplomat, somewhere abroad. Rather prominent -- cultured home, and all that. Then the war came and they were repatriated. He was sick by then, and died a few months afterward. And they moved here - her mother inherited a tiny house . . She sighed. "Sad story. But then Japan's full of 'em." "They started the war." said Phyllis. "Kimiko didn't." ii |