She struggled fiercely not to give way. 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. “Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. "I was right," replied Jack, returning as coolly as if nothing had happened. His curiosity put itself into a question.
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