But after that it was easy. An immediate halt took place. 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. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards. He heard the panting of the donkey-engine, then the slithering of the anchor chains. The entire place was a masterpiece of wooden carving, a design of interleaving carried throughout. In you—if you can love me—there is salvation. He is Jacques.
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