She could not hide her face. “Going to visit our little friend the vampire?” “What?” He asked, incredulous. \" She whirled around by instinct, frightening the boy who she had borrowed the pencil from. Superstition—you knock into it whichever way you turn. There were no doors in the bungalow; instead, there were curtains of strung bead and bamboo, always tinkling mysteriously. “What I mean is. ” John tried to direct the topic away from him. "I give you one minute for reflection.
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