Her white shirt was mired with a central bloodstain, his pants caked with mud. 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. It is what I have wanted, what I have meant all along. Maggot. She stumbled through a thorny copse, her slippers sliding on patches of sand that gave way to rock. I forget the particulars, but I know it was something very disagreeable. " And he led the way to an inner room, in the middle of which stood a table, covered with a large white cloth.
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