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. "How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. You shall have room to develop, you shall live as you will, where you will, only give me the right to protect you, to free you from all these petty material cares. What you’re after is too risky.
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