She was weeping now. " Bamboo and bead tinkled and slithered behind him. He hung over her—he and his loan to her and his connection with her and that terrible evening—a vague, disconcerting possibility of annoyance and exposure. She entered the front hall, formerly magnificent, now faded and dusty, the old wood table waiting for guests who would never come. There are a thousand questions I'd like to ask you, but I sha'n't ask them. It was so hopeless to put it to them.
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