" "May I trust you?" hesitated Thames. It got on my nerves—the women I saw. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. It is as if my lips had been sealed about them. That is how I learned that there were such things as novels. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother. Come. We needn’t try and give ourselves airs. "Then I presume you've not been arrested?" "I have not," answered Wood firmly. I’m so glad you’re not angry.
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