“Looooo-ceeeeee!!” He yelled, sounding like Desi Arnaz. If my conjectures are right, this boy would stay there indefinitely. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. For the most part these were detached people: men practising the plastic arts, young writers, young men in employment, a very large proportion of girls and women—self-supporting women or girls of the student class. ‘And me?’ ‘Oh, you’re mad because you wish to blow off my head.
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