” Ennison looked steadily at the cigarette which he was tapping on his forefinger. What a pig she was. Any one less courageous than himself would have abandoned the attempt from a conviction of its utter hopelessness; but, though it might for a moment damp his ardour, it could not deter him. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. . She had never been able to discover where her father had hidden his shaving mirror.
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