’ ‘Oh, that tragic pair,’ uttered her ladyship in saddened tones. Neither of these wards had beds, and the unfortunate inmates were obliged to take their rest on the oaken floor. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. ‘Oh, peste. ” “Don’t let there be any more. “How crude you are, Anna!” she exclaimed with a little sigh. I know faces. I've my own reasons for disliking this job.
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