“You must come home to him at once,” said Miss Stanley. And empty. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. They thought that she was her own mother. Milky sunlight spilled on the floor. Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you.
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