“Is that not rather a profitless speculation, my friend?” He seemed deaf to her interruption. They were very nice about it, in memory of your father. She counted three on the way to the train and four more on the crowded car that would have gladly taken him to bed with not so much as a word. 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. Awful shapes seemed to flit by, borne on the wings of the tempest, animating and directing its fury. ” “What?” He asked.
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