"Don't be angry with me, Thames," continued Sheppard, in a tone calculated, as he thought, to appease his companion's indignation. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. She understood. Blood, they say, won't come out. ‘Now then,’ said the captain sternly, ‘I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing here. Let’s face it, she hates Missy’s guts.
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