‘I do not mind to pray, no. But for all that, it offered relief; his brain, stupefied by the fumes, grew dull, and conscience lost its edge to bite. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. There he stands. When I'm alone I don't mind. They can’t help seeing things in the way they do.
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