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 next page was a drawing that she had made in pen and ink of his face, or what she had remembered of it. I had to ask Mr. She tried gentle words with him, beguiling perfumes, even slipped aphrodisiac tisanes into his soup. It gave her joy to see them laughing, even though she was unsure of what she had done wrong.
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