She sensed he might try and wane on her doorstep. “No, those are my brother’s dog tags. It’s these damned novels. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The doctor would naturally offer a hundred objections; he might seriously interfere; so he must be forestalled. There was a coffee equipage on the table, and some sandwiches, and the fire had been recently made up.
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