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. Bordered by fine timber, the road occasionally offered glimpses of a lovely valley, until a wider opening gave a full view of a delightful and varied prospect. She had no idea what she should do. She shrank from him as he gripped her hand more forcibly. Spurlock sat limply, his arms hanging. “I think that I will leave this letter for him,” she said.
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