Probably a sick man's whim. ‘Because I’m a female,’ declared Lucilla unanswerably. “Come,” he said, “this is capital, capital. 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. Single pearls— Lord knows where they come from!—are always turning up, some of them of fine lustre; but I never set eyes on them. ‘But there is something still I do not understand.
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