The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. She dropped beside the chair, sat cross-legged, and laughed at the futile jade-coloured wall. Then, naturally, I went on talking. "But what is an oath to you!" cried the widow, distrustfully. She rested her head upon his shoulder. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. ‘I borrow the expression from Melusine.
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