So I made haste and recovered. A black-garbed figure crept forward, noiselessly, towards Gosse’s back. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. 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. The cold air gave her gooseflesh under her red brocade dress as she slipped outside. She then dried her eyes, and laying her child gently upon the floor, knelt down beside him. Brendon told him the name of a distant restaurant and sprang in by her side.
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