“But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Hill lost a little of his truculency. But let that verse tell my secret. I won’t even ask. He wore a long coat, beautifully flowered, and a hat with a turned up brim.
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