” There was a strange look in her face, the look of a frightened child. . "I have no sympathy," replied Prudence, "with a man who deliberately fuddles himself with strong drink. “It’s the spring,” he said. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. The mighty concourse became for a moment still. She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat. I spent my fair share of time in the closet. “But I must, I will,” he answered fiercely. Ruth stared thoughtfully at the waiting coolies. Those awful chairs!" After dinner the spinsters proceeded to inscribe their accustomed quota of postcards, and Ruth was left to herself. Look at these walls. The future? He dared not speculate upon that. ’ I said.
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