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. It was clear by the look on her face that she decided to leave the house immediately. He resented being regarded as irregular. Annabel passed on with a strained nod to her sister, and Sir John’s bow was a miracle of icy displeasure.
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