A scene now ensued, highly characteristic of the age, and the occasion. Her pulses began to race. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. Her eyelids fluttered with recognition, and she cried out softly.
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