It was the girl. Spurlock (himself verging upon the hysterical) welcomed the diversion. Anyone would be intrigued. I’m not Gerald, remember. ’ He sighed. 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. Only I wish that it did not remind one so much of a second-hand clothes shop. It was a queer little bed-sitting-room almost in the roof, with a partition right across it. Give me my pistol and my dagger. Women who Dids, and all that kind of thing.
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