“I believe,” he said stiffly, “that these are the apartments of Miss Pellissier. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. Wood, sharply. In a sense I don’t care. ‘Don’t concern yourself. Maggot. 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 had adroitly captured her and led her away from her other guests on the pretext of feigning an interest in her charitable attitude to the newly arrived French.
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