. "Good night. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. ‘And you know, my dear, I do think you must make up your mind to beard this wretched grandfather of yours. With astonishment, Gerald saw a rheumy film rimming his old commander’s eyes. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. . ” Mike blurted, his voice swallowed by the throb of loud music.
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