To fight inertia on the one hand and to study this queer girl on the other. 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 doesn't resemble you at all. "Fire!—murder—thieves!—I've got one of 'em!" "Come along," cried Jack.
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