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. "Ja," replied the skipper. ” He replied. The curtain tinkled as her head brushed it, but he neither saw nor heard. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir. The weed was all right.
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