The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. To witness this girl sewing on a loose button, flopping the coat about on her knees, tickled his ironic sense of humour; and laughter bubbled into his throat. But Ann Veronica had still to get to her chief topic. Oh! that Mr. “I was born there. They are blinded to all fine and subtle things —they look at life with bloodshot eyes and dilated nostrils. And, lastly, to the Seven Cities o' Refuge, in the New Mint.
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