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How old are you?’ ‘I have nineteen years, and it is quite unimportant. Chapter VI A QUESTION OF IDENTIFICATION The little man with the closely-cropped beard and hair looked at her keenly through his gold eye-glasses. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. I was Annabel the rake, ‘Alcide’ of the music halls. He knew she had been weeping. He did not love Ruth. “You may not leave.
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