’ ‘His daughter, ma’am?’ Gerald asked. 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. "She is. "It only leads to the fencing crib," replied Wild. "Your enemy!" she returned imperfectly comprehending him. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. His aunt, here at McClintock's? It was unbelievable.
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