" "I don't know. ” Lucy implored. "Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. Fearful that she had given herself away, she sank back down onto her stool. ‘I kissed you once, didn’t I?’ Her pulses jumped and she stared. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. God only knows what I have done, or left undone.
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