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Suddenly he felt Ruth swing violently away from him, and he wheeled to learn the cause. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Those were dreams. “I expected you this morning,” he said. Roused by the bell tolling for evening service, Jack left the house. The blouse dried nicely, it would only need a touch of starch and a little ironing. A common rage flushed their faces. "He seems infatuated about the lad," observed Wild. Usually his charges bored him with their interrogative chatter, for he knew that his information more often than not went into one ear and out of the other. The girl stood with her hands behind her back, sulky, resolute, and intelligent, a strand of her black hair over one eye and looking more than usually delicate-featured, and more than ever like an obdurate child.
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