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. It was no use. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. Others are smart but fall prey to emotional damage, the female lunar instinct of cunning that goes awry. My father thought the latter. "No matter," replied Sheppard.
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