There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Anna’s face was half turned from him, but her expression, and the tone of her monosyllable puzzled him. Have the goodness to affix your name to that memorandum, Sir Rowland. You have the gift of words, but you haven't started to create yet. The calvacade was now put slowly in motion.
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