There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up. I want to give myself to you. Suddenly she understood. McClintock was in a gay mood at dinner that night; but he did not see fit to give these children the true reason. “I can’t endure it,” she said.
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