Prepared as he was for a dreadful shock, and with his nerves strung to endure it, Jack absolutely recoiled before the appalling object that met his gaze. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. She paused for a moment. She is Bohemian to the fingertips. “Yeah. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly. “Exactly.
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