For a while they stood there, silent, motionless, staring at the doorway where still a few strings of the bamboo curtain swayed and twisted, agitated by the Wastrel's passage. Ramage!” she cried, and struggled to her feet. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. “I’m not gentle. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it.
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