” He took an optimist view of her chances. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “I ought to look up Gwen,” she said. Her heavy pistol came up again, although she did not rise. "Constance—or, rather, Mrs. Spurling," said Jonathan, who overheard the whisper, "you owe your situation to me.
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