Will you be wanting me alone?" asked Ah Cum. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. “I have stood it for a month, Anna,” he exclaimed. And nearly all these things were fearfully ill-paid. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Perhaps marriage hurt.
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