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. 47 was no more than a sort of railway compartment on the way to that. It seemed to encapsulate the mosquito like a little piece of moonlight, it was talismanic to her. Then enter Mr. ” She paused again.
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