Such pretty manners, she thought. I am sure it will be good, John, and I could eat anything. He can't play cards, either, when he's sober. His absence was thought by the charitable to be from grief. She was conscious of a ceaseless undercurrent of sound—the guttural Chinese tongue. Always the other things remained. 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.
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