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. Her nerves were shattered, her senses dazed by this unexpected shock. "Do you mean to say that if I support your kid, I shan't bring him up how I please—eh?" "Don't question me, but leave me," replied the widow wildly; "you had better. " "I sha'n't want these curtains. ‘I’m following a scent. ” She acted calm, but could not help being offended. .
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