Chapter VII MISS PELLISSIER’S SUSPICIONS “Anna!” Anna kissed her sister and nodded to her aunt. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. What a pig she was. “He dissembles,” he said. But this afternoon it discovered an unusual vein of irritability in her. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint.
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