"Aren't you afraid?" "Of what?"—serenely. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. "Come with me, my love, come—come," cried his mother, seizing his hand, and endeavouring to force him away. "Hear! hear!" vociferated Quilt. They’ll face facts as facts, and understand.
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