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. E. “On the stage? Yes. . ’ ‘But me orders, sir? Are we to—’ ‘Gad, but that’s her,’ interrupted Roding suddenly. Her stomach growled, and she clutched at it in reaction, haphazardly observing that the gown had been changed to silk. She was dropped off at 2:30 at Whitefield Park, a huge extravagantly lit field in the new part of town.
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