The procession now wound its way, without further interruption, along Holborn. His kisses drew deeper, he started unlacing her dress. ” Lucy gestured to the rough plywood floor. And turning again, as if the emotions she had churned up kept her on the move, she paced back to the mantel and there stopped, staring at her own reflection in the tarnished mirror. 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.
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