" "Let me go," implored Mrs. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The image in the glass was not clear, for the light was not bright enough to see properly, but the shadows of her riding habit and the hat with its waving plumes framed a countenance that gazed serenely back at her out of long-lashed blue eyes.
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