The swellings appeared under her arms and a general panic spread through the Palazzo. "What is a sing-song girl?" she asked. It melted her heart. “One has to live and learn,” she remarked, with a passable imitation of her father’s manner. 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. He smiled. Here was an appalling fact: all her previous loneliness had been trifling beside that which now encompassed her and would for years to come.
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