John turned toward the short staircase as she alit upon the first creaky step. “My only answer would be to ask you to look at that mirror and then at the poster. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The curtain before one mystery was torn aside, and she saw in reality what lay behind the impulse that had led her into the young man's room. So was I, in fact. ‘I had no need of the place, and there was no money, of course.
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