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. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. Her husband was drinking in the tavern with the other guests. He will be hanged—hanged—hanged. Once or twice she commented upon it, but she knew that it was resultant of his fear of her impending departure. . “Perhaps,” he said, “I have been to blame. “I wish you and I had drunk that love potion,” he said. Only the night before, in the dining room of the Hong-Kong Hotel, she had watched him empty glass after glass of whisky, and shudder and shudder. “Forgive me,” he said, “but I want to hear it from your sister.
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This video was uploaded to southmsnightout.com on 23-04-2024 14:56:07
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