How I could have been such a fool I’ll never know. 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. But I have not done so, and will not. A hollow feeling opened up inside her, and she felt her heartbeat quicken. She killed every month, twelve a year, and was for all intents and purposes a serial killer of middle aged men. Day by day she followed the spiritual and physical contest between this man and woman. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping.
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