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There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. " It was curiously like the intermittent murmur of the surf, those weird Sundays, when her father paused for breath to launch additional damnation for those who disobeyed the Word. "Go on first with the light," he said. I might have known it. ToC The noise of this disturbance did not fail to reach the interior of the prison.
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