She did not want to go to the doctor's people; however kindly that might be, they would be only curious strangers. The tiles lay a foot thick in the road. Just as Jack gained the entrance, he heard a man's footstep behind him, and aware that the slightest indiscretion would betray him, he halted, uncertain what to do. 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. “Thank God,” he exclaimed. I’ve never had a homemade Thanksgiving meal like that. “I suppose I ought to congratulate you,” he said. To the Seven Cities of Refuge Jack proceeded.
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