After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “Of course,” she said diffidently, “this is a boarding-house, although we never take in promiscuous travellers. What more could any reasonable man— especially a watchman—desire? Besides, the Marquis, is a devilish fine fellow, and a particular friend of mine. T' other gen'l'man said the letter 'ud explain all. Had he been listening inside? ‘What is amiss?’ ‘That Frenchie, sir.
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