CHAPTER XVI. I sat within a few feet of him. But this I cannot do. “The man is dangerous. Why should WE hoard? We aren’t going out presently, like Japanese lanterns in a gale. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. I wish I could get you to imitate Thames Darrell. She was new, unlike any other woman he had met in all his wide travel. He was bewildered. He devoured her with his eyes too, his shyness not able to disguise his furtive glances at the curvy outline of her breast against the imitation silk, his memory still exquisitely tortured by her movements in the miniskirt. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. This lifeless appearance was heightened by the extreme sharpness of her features—especially the nose and chin,—and by the emaciation of her limbs, which was painfully distinct through her drapery. For fully five minutes he lay quite motionless.
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