Stir a foot, and I strike. ’ ‘Is it, now? Well you won’t, then, for he won’t hear nothing, missie. ” “It might become one,” he answered. 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. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. For five minutes he has been trying to think of something to say.
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