“Good evening, Dorling,” he said. “And how did you find us here?” “I called at Montague Street a few minutes after you had left. Their chit-chat stopped when they reached the bench. I leaned over and looked at him—he was quite still. Michelle looked like she was about to throw up herself. "You can do so. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. He wiped the sweat from his chin and forehead. “Mr. Jonathan smiled contemptuously. Again silence.
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