‘I told you I could handle her. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. ’ ‘Who was to know if you would find your place?’ countered Martha. I saw the metal box a hundred times, but I never thought of opening it until the day I fled. By the time I had recovered myself she had gone.
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