I knew him in spite of his dress. “You were going to answer it?” “Certainly not!” she said deliberately. She was vehemently impatient—she did not clearly know for what—to do, to be, to experience. Beyond was a chaise longue, covered with cushions and shawls laid anyhow across it, together with a discarded tapestry in the making, and a scattering of woollen threads about it. Once she reached the bamboo curtain, clutched at it and tore it down as his arms went around her waist.
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