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. I don’t think I shall ever care for this bonnet again. To her mind, recalling the picture of him the night before, there had been something tragic in the grim silent manner of his tippling. ” “Don’t worry yourself. ’ ‘In a way she had been,’ said Prudence. And here against a wall were the plumtrees. ‘How do you do, my lord? I am Lucilla Froxfield. Monsieur Charvill, he is also my cousin.
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