There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. On Saturday he went to that there Mr Charvill’s house. The cork came out with a loud pop, and Anna could not help wondering how it must sound to the patient little crowd outside.
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