He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. “You mustn’t say anything more to your mother, Michelle. 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. Oh, they are married fast. Or, if you were about to embark upon a nautical career, here was all the information required. Just then—I was nervous.
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