Sheppard, he turned to quit the churchyard. It was very much like a real house, with one central stalagmite that looked like a column and a waterfall that served when she wanted to bathe. Every now and then her general presence became radiantly dazzling in his eyes; she would appear in the street coming toward him, a surprise, so fine and smiling and welcoming was she, so expanded and illuminated and living, in contrast with his mere expectation. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously.
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