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. “Why don’t you?” “Well, it might mean rather a row. "Good-bye!" For a moment Ruth was tempted to fling herself against the withered bosom; but long since she had learned repression. And now she was discovering that even Nature was something of a liar, with her mirages and her horizons.
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