Listening on the dimlit landing, he saw Roding’s face muscles tighten. And here she was—in a mess because it had been impossible for her to avoid leaning upon another man. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. She dismissed the whole subject with a little shrug of the shoulders. He was inclined to be a good-natured person, and he had no nervous fears of receiving a snub.
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