The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. "I will set about it instantly. From the portals of the hotel—scarcely fifty yards from the canal—one saw the blank face of the ancient city of Canton. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness.
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