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Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. 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. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. It was decrepit and too large. Part 9 The realization that she was in love flooded Ann Veronica’s mind, and altered the quality of all its topics.
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