There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. But the figure was evidently too intent on peering within the ballroom to pay any attention to what might be occurring outside. She made herself serenely unaware of his existence, though it may be it was his presence that sent her by the field detour instead of by the direct path up the Avenue. "Where are you going?" she asked. The father was a madman.
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