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 young lady, I presume, told you that her name was Anna,” he remarked. It was an overcast day, albeit not foggy, and the electric light shades glowed warmly, and an Italian waiter with insufficient English took Ramage’s orders, and waited with an appearance of affection. "Can't!" repeated his mother. \"Josh Durkin?\" Lucy whispered loudly. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. " With this, he struck the door a heavy blow. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. It was immediately opened by a man with light eyelashes and a manner suggestive of restrained passion. He sat on the bed, throwing aside his hat.
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