\" Now it was Michelle’s turn to laugh. But ere the words could find utterance, her maternal tenderness overcame her indignation; and, sinking upon her knees, she extended her arms over her child. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. The place pulsed with music too loud to converse above. His mother's scream seemed again to ring in his ears, and he was so deeply affected that, fearful of exciting attention, he was about to quit the sacred edifice, when he was stopped by the entrance of Thames, who looked pale as death, with Winifred leaning on his arm. "Then I am old-fashioned.
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