There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “What are you two whispering about?” She turned towards Martin. Your second turn is not over, is it?” She laughed a little hardly. He did not know—and probably never would unless she told him—that it was very easy (and comfortable for a woman) to fall into slatternly ways in this latitude. On a pallet in one corner lay a pale emaciated female.
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