Oh, you must believe me. " CHAPTER IX. But the general was turning on him, the hint of emotion wiped from his lined features. Her hands wove through his black hair, luxuriating in its thickness. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. ‘Parbleu, you waste time. What about your luggage?” “I could get a few of my things, at any rate,” she said.
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