You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. “But that’s not all. The Frenchman was already being followed. 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. A young woman with a white badge on her arm stood and counted the sections as they entered their vans. ‘Still, the comtesse has them well in hand.
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