“No, no,” she cried. The gallows has groaned for him for years. 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. This is where my character, Lucia, is coming from. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. Every care had been taken of it, as well as of himself, by the humane inmates of the house in which he had sought shelter.
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