He gurgled as if trying to communicate. ‘Tchah! So you’re the whelp’s girl, are you? Suppose you’ve nothing but that villainous French in your tongue. "Another moment, and it'll be too late. But I will go. Gossip was the driving force in Sheila’s existence. ’ I said. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. I made her my unwilling confederate. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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