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She tried not to blush. I worshipped women long before I found any woman I might ever hope to worship. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. These little squares of coloured paper interested her mightily—hotel labels. Why did he take me?’ Martha’s damp eyes were puzzled. Her confession was still unmade. But we’ve got the brains to get over that, and tongues in our heads to talk to each other. A florid-looking young woman rose up and accosted him eagerly.
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