She held up the lamp. “What has she told you?” “Everything. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Instinctively she knew—some human recollection she had inherited—that she must not disturb him in this man-agony. There was a great splash of blood upon it, her hand was all wet and sticky.
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