She was the first to recover herself. I am a man—of a sort of experience. “You’ll have to take her!” shouted an inspector on horseback, and she echoed his cry: “You’ll have to take me!” They seized upon her and lifted her, and she screamed. 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. He was content to watch her accepting compliments and gaudy bouquets full of red roses, white carnations, and purple statice.
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