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. ‘There is no question of a dispute. "Drink this," cried Jonathan, handing her the cup. Anna was still holding her cigarette between her fingers. “No reason. "Nothing!" echoed the other, scornfully. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass.
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