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. “Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. He said simply that he wanted her to live at home. Then she goes to a dramatic agent. ’ The dagger was in her hand. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue.
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