Even from a distance she appeared to be a shy, wild creature,
and Heyst, anxious not to try her primitive nerves unduly, scrupulously
avoided that side of the clearing in his strolls.
The day--or rather the first night--after his hermit life began, he was
aware of vague sounds of revelry in that direction. Emboldened by the
departure of the invading strangers, some Alfuros, the woman's friends
and relations, had ventured over the ridge to attend something in the
nature of a wedding feast. Wang had invited them. But this was the only
occasion when any sound louder than the buzzing of insects had troubled
the profound silence of the clearing. The natives were never invited
again. Wang not, only knew how to live according to conventional
proprieties, but had strong personal views as to the manner of arranging
his domestic existence. After a time Heyst perceived that Wang had
annexed all the keys. Any keys left lying about vanished after Wang had
passed that way. Subsequently some of them--those that did not belong
to the store-rooms and the empty bungalows, and could not be regarded
as the common property of this community of two--were returned to Heyst,
tied in a bunch with a piece of string. He found them one morning
lying by the side of his plate. He had not been inconvenienced by their
absence, because he never locked up anything in the way of drawers and
boxes.
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