It was so easy to forget the imminent threats of being discovered during times of peace. I have a weapon—a knife—and if you attempt to open the door, will plunge it to my heart. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. And he hazarded a wink at the poet over the paper on which he was sketching. You’d think he wanted to meet the wretch again. She asked no further questions for the moment. 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.
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