‘No, let me guess,’ he interrupted. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “To-night we are as we have always been. " "I shall require them as well," rejoined Sheppard; "and your boots. Then a bit of colour flowed into his sunken white cheeks. It’s John. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. The dream flowers and is harvested, and we are left by the wayside, having served our singular purpose in the scheme of progress: as the orange is tossed aside when sucked of its ruddy juice.
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