There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. ” “Well”—her breath failed her for a moment. “Read this, John. For all the enervating heat, he applied himself vigorously to his tasks. ‘And I am delighted to see that you are ready to admit that the Charvills—or rather the Valades—are indeed your affair. You would rather live like the scum of the earth, in that little brown hovel you call a house, in bourgeois paradise.
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