Mind, when we were all growed up, it were different. "I am no man's mistress," answered the widow, crimsoning to her temples, but preserving her meek deportment, and humble tone. She rode him gently. 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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