“Now,” he said, quietly, “it’s time we stopped this nonsense. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. I told him Valade had tried to borrow money off me and asked if he could vouch for the fellow. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. Some day I may forgive you; but not now.
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