Wood's bed-chamber—it was locked, with the key left in it. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “What the devil do you mean by coming for me like that?” Ennison exclaimed, glowering down upon him. E.
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