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. She possessed what he affected to despise, but secretly worshipped—the innate charm of breeding. They are things faint and slight in themselves, as physical facts, but they are like the detonator of a bomb: they let loose the explosive. "'Under the wide and starry sky, Dig the grave and let me lie. Run away now, please. ‘That is the man who tries to kill me, but he wounded instead my servant. “But don’t you know about me?” he said at last. I overlooked the mechanical imperfections of your work, the utter lack of finish, the crudeness of your drawing.
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