Then her white teeth gleamed, and her excuse for remaining any longer before that little marble table was gone. “Why on earth did you TELL me?” he cried. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “That he should be in the same world with me!” said Ann Veronica, reduced to reading the list of good things the British Tea-Table Company had priced for its patrons. Ennison seemed to feel already the shadow of tragedy approaching.
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