There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. She felt flattered. The light of memory flashed in the man’s face. "I dare say she has called to inquire about Jack. He was entranced as she walked towards him. How came you to know it? Have you heard the name before?" "I think I have—long, long ago, when I was a child," replied Mrs. “I believe it is. And you promised to tell me.
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