The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. If she spoke to a policeman she did not know what would ensue. Martin’s eyes seemed about to pop out of his head. “Is it your maid?” he asked. ‘What would you? The nuns they would not believe me, and so it was not possible for me to stay.
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