Mounting the door he had last opened, he placed his hands on the wall above, and quickly drew himself up. Indeed, I've heard him say that, but for his wife, he would shelter her under his own roof. He felt her relaxation and let go of her wrists. No! That was impossible. 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.
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