There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. "Stay, dear Thames!—stay!" cried the little girl. ” Lucy yanked him into the hidden door to Room 109, a door to the backstage that looked like the entrance to a broom closet. Or he would find something—a wave in her hair, a little line in the contour of her brow or neck, that made an exquisite discovery. “I am the most foolish of men.
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