The weed was all right. ‘That’s a loud one. "Rather cramped, eh?" "Rather so, Sir," replied the other, altering his position. But no matter how you phrase it, the end is the same. 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. The daughters, he had hoped, would be their mother’s care. The light would betray us.
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