“My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years. She drifted, via Theobald’s Road, obliquely toward the region about Titchfield Street. Even after this woman had gone, it seemed to Ruth that the room was kindlier than it had ever been. ‘You have not the right. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. She had fled back to Florence quite intent on slitting the new bride’s throat.
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