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. The first of these, situated a the south of the building, with the exception of one ward over the gateway, was allotted to the better class of debtors, whose funds enabled them to defray their chamber-rent, fees, and garnish. “Are you feeling okay?” “Just fine. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly.
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