There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. " "What gives you that idea?" "Well, we could find no letter of credit, no letters, no labels in his clothes—not a single clew to his real identity. ” “Maybe I should stay away. Do you know, I am beginning to believe that we only exist nowadays by the tolerance of these millionaire tradesmen. “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added.
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