But for the next few days he avoided Cheveney like the plague. “You are not boring me,” she said, “but I would rather talk of something else. As it happens sometimes, the idea stepped down from the dream into the reality; and he saw it more clearly now than he had seen it in the dream. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine. Blueskin is booked. Cut to pieces —slashed—bloodied.
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