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. “Are you looking for Mike? He’s working. He held in his hands many threads. "Perhaps. ” Ogilvy reflected. Haven’t I shown you over and over again that I mean you no harm? What do I have to do?’ ‘You can go away and leave me to my affairs,’ she threw at him. ‘How fascinating.
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