The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Jane was a smoldering auburn-haired Irish beauty who seldom spoke to anyone. Her mind went on generalizing. From time to time, however, he was baffled. Her voice was weak and flat. He wondered if, after all, McClintock wasn't nearest the truth, that Ruth was one of those unfortunate yet innocent women who make havoc with the hearts of men. “Nothing,” said Ann Veronica, and stared over her shoulder out of the window.
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