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Smith's melody had subsided. It was hard to meet that gaze. It is an Occidental point of view. 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. “I thought I saw her in town to-day,” he said. Recollect, he's chained to the ground by a great horse-padlock, and is never unloosed except when he comes to that hatch.
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