" "Do you mock me?" cried Jack, levelling a pistol at him. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. My natural parents both died a very long time ago and I have been on my own for a great deal of my existence. Manning,” she said, “for a time—Will you tell no one? Will you keep this—our secret? I’m doubtful—Will you please not even tell my aunt?” “As you will,” he said. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man.
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