There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. " "Have you told him so?" she inquired, reproachfully. Heaven knows what dim and tawdry conceptions of passion and desire were in that blond cranium, what romance-begotten dreams of intrigue and adventure! but they sufficed, when presently Ann Veronica went out into the darkling street again, to inspire a flitting, dogged pursuit, idiotic, exasperating, indecent. She ran to the lamp and extinguished it. " Sir Rowland moved irresolutely towards the door, but recoiled before a sad spectacle.
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