The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “Suppose I chuck it,” she remarked, standing with the mauve slip in her hand —“suppose I chuck it, and surrender and go home! Perhaps, after all, Roddy was right! “Father keeps opening the door and shutting it, but a time will come— “I could still go home!” She held Ramage’s check as if to tear it across. “We are to begin our married life to-night—here where I first met you. Oh! that I should have nursed such a viper!" "Hear me, Sir," said Jack. She opened and read it at once. “You’re splendid. "Auntie?" he cried.
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