“How are ya, buddy? Good job at the concert. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. 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. Whenever they stepped from the chairs, he stepped down. Melusine came in, picked up the lantern, and heard the library door bang open just as the panel clicked closed behind her. He was in great pain and it meant that he would be in casts for twelve weeks. Many’s the bullets I’ve dug out of fellows in my time. And I think also that Gosse—I mean that one who calls himself Valade—stole it. Both started. These things illuminated her situation extremely.
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