The villagers were thronging to church. She felt herself getting into a corner. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. ‘Small wonder in a way that he found hisself consolation elsewhere. It throbs cruelly. There was only one idea in his head now—to batter and bruise and crush this weakling, then cast him at the feet of his love-lorn wife.
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