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. The Jew swallowed it at a draught. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping. He swung it open and then used his body to pin her against her seat. She felt she had stepped into a world of unknown usages. Her hair, once red, faded to a thin gray that she kept cut into a practical short bob.
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