Anna stood on the step and looked up and down the street for a hansom. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “Not much,” he answered, “and yet about all there is to be known, I fancy. She barely heard a word that Martin or Brown said, until Martin’s voice chimed. “Well?” she said.
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