She got up early, and walked about the garden in the dewy June sunshine and revived her childhood. They don’t catch on to discursive interests, you see, because they are more serious, they are concentrated on the central reality of life, and a little impatient of its—its outer aspects. “I wonder,” she murmured to herself, “if this is the beginning. Deep verandas ran around the bungalows, with bamboo drops which were always down in the daytime, fending off the treacherous sunshine.
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