There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. "And you will answer it frankly?" "Certainly. ” Presently, as if for comparison with her father’s letter, she got out Ramage’s check from the box that contained her papers. She sat in a chair in the parlour and regarded the darkening sky through the small casement window. Everything, Miss Miniver said, was “working up,” everything was “coming on”—the Higher Thought, the Simple Life, Socialism, Humanitarianism, it was all the same really. It’s so different from what one has been led to expect.
Video ID: TW96aWxsYS81LjAgQXBwbGVXZWJLaXQvNTM3LjM2IChLSFRNTCwgbGlrZSBHZWNrbzsgY29tcGF0aWJsZTsgQ2xhdWRlQm90LzEuMDsgK2NsYXVkZWJvdEBhbnRocm9waWMuY29tKSAtIDMuMTUuMjEuNzkgLSAwOC0wNy0yMDI0IDEyOjQ0OjE5IC0gNzAzNDE0NTI3
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