The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. There was no one else in the doorway. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. “Great!” Cathy squealed. Hadn’t they settled that already? “I want you as a friend,” he persisted, almost as if he disputed something. He had no wish to drag the footman out of his way, once he had got his questions answered.
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