She was wan and white. Just go about with him. I shall want you. There was Major Price—you must recollect him, Sir Rowland,—he stumbled as he was getting out of his chair at that very gate. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. With a finger crooked in his side-pocket, she measured her step with his, her senses still dizzy from the echo of the magic sounds.
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