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. But just as they were about to place him on the ground, he burst from their hold, and made a desperate spring at Jonathan, who was standing with his arms folded near the door watching the scene. “Who’s your violin teacher?” He asked. . 'Slife! you are wonderfully altered. ‘She’s gone. "We'll see that, you yelping hounds!" rejoined Jonathan, glaring fiercely at them.
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